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From  the 

P.O.  NEWS  STAHO 

2S   W.   Faik  Sutel 
BUTTt.   MONT. 
hol«Ml<^  i  Ket.il  BookscUc.s 
Newsdealc'S,  Stauoncts 


SKETCHES  OF  BUTTE 


O  P:; 


Sketches  of  Butte 

(From  Vigilante  Days  to  Prohibition) 

BY 

GEORGE  WESLEY   DAVIS 

AUTHOR   OF 

"  Dancing  Girls  of  Cairo,"  "  On  Ihc  Danube  and  the  liliine  " 


THE  CORNHILL  COMPANY 
BOSTON 


Copyright,  1921 
By  the  CORNHILL  COMPANY 


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FOREWORD 

In  writing  these  sketches,  I  have  avoided, 
as  much  as  possible,  the  over-written  mines, 
courts  and  pohtics. 

I  shall  give  a  pen  picture  of  a  wonderful 
Western  camp,  the  good  and  bad  of  an  un- 
usual people,  the  joys  and  horrors  of  the 
largest  mining  camp  in  the  world,  a  city  of 
many  contrasts. 

The  Butte  of  the  early  days  is  passing, 
and  like  many  of  what  were  once  the  frontier 
towns  and  camps  of  our  great  Western  coun- 
try, the  picturesqueness  of  its  life  is  passing 
with  it,  so  that,  even  today,  it  seems  neces- 
sary to  make  a  narrative  of  personal  experi- 
ence or  observation,  as  most  old-timers  of  the 
"diggings"  are  averse  to  talking  of  early 
days,  except  in  a  general  way.  Perhaps  it 
is  because  of  a  fear  of  throwing  light  on 
shadows  of  former  days, — a  time  when  life 
was  reckless.  One  must  have  lived  in  those 
days  to  picture  it  as  it  was  from  the  begin- 
ning  of    the    placer    diggings    down    to   the 


274.524 


vi  Foreword 

present  day.  It  is  my  wish  to  be  fair  with 
all  classes  and  give  conditions  as  they  have 
existed  from  year  to  year.  I  trust  that  this 
fact  alone  will  justify  my  taking  the  reader 
from  places  of  joy  to  sections  where  tragedy 
stalks  about  the  streets. 

Many  of  the  gi-eat  mining  camps  today 
are  ghost  towns — Bannack,  Cripple  Creek, 
Tonapah  and  Goldfields  are  scarcely  more 
than  memories  of  their  tempestuous  past,  and 
their  history  has  largely  died  with  them. 
Butte  alone  remains  individual,  distinct, 
apart,  greater  today  than  ever  before,  a  city 
now,  although  throughout  the  world  referred 
to  as  a  camp,  the  most  wonderful  the  world 
has  ever  known,  half  ashamed  of  its  past, 
yet  like  unto  no  other  of  our  important  cities. 
'  George  Wesley  Davis. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     Vigilante   Days 3 

II  From  Virginia  City  to  Butte    ...  21 

III  The  Stranger's  First  Glimpse  of  Butte  27 

IV     Wandering  Around 31 

V     "Dope"  Colony 40 

VI      Cemeteries  of  Butte 64 

VII     Many  Joys 67 

VIII  Foreign  Population  ......  64 

IX     Extremes  in  Society 68 

X  Some  Interesting  Charactei:s   ...  76 

XI  At  the  Old  Country  Club  ....  101 

XII  Corrupting  Fellow  Men      .       .       .       .  115 

XIII  The  Crime  of  Blackmail     ....  123 

XIV  Patriots  and  Traitors 131 

XV  The  Hanging  of  Frank  Little              .  136 

XVI      Mainly  About  Houses 140 

XVII      The  Plague 149 

XVIII     Going  Dry 163 

XIX     At  the  Present  Time 171 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The  Richest  Hill" Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

Vigilante  Notice  3-7-77 11 

Indian  Wrestler 83 

Rural  Life  of  Author 58 

Bucking  Pinto 105 

The  Old  Town 145 

Invitation  to  Hanging 171 


SKETCHES    OF    BUTTE 


SKETCHES   OF  BUTTE 


Chapter  One 
VIGILANTE   DAYS 

In  the  early  sixties  Montana  was  infested 
with  bandits  of  the  lowest  type.  The  first 
successful  reform  movement  was,  planned  and 
accomplished  by  the  Vigilantes.  That  was 
before  my  day  in  the  west;  a  time  when 
Henry  Plummer  and  his  associates  terrorized 
Montana  and  Idaho. 

I  can  best  tell  the  story  of  the  Vigilantes 
as  it  was  told  to  me  by  one  who  lived  in  the 
territories  in  those  davs.  He  was  an  old  man 
I  met  in  the  office  of  a  little  hotel  in  Virginia 
City  who  gave  me  the  story  of  his  early  life. 
I  had  just  returned  from  a  walk  down  Alder 
gulch  to  Nevada,  a  camp  two  miles  below, 
where,  in  early  days,  wild  and  picturesque 
characters  panned  gold.  It  was  a  fascinating 
walk  as  the  sun's  soft  glow  melted  into  twi- 
light; sparkling  waterfalls  sang  in  the  eve- 
ning's   quiet,    and    nature    seemed    a    fairy 

dream. 

3 


4  Sketches  of  Butte 

At  twilight  here  the  world  is  mystic, 
And  the  purple  canyon  seems 

Brooding  over  the  empty  cabins 
Ghostly  in  the  pale  moon-beams. 

Here  they  flocked  when  life  was  cruel, 
Rough  hard  men  of  rugged  mould. 

Driven  to  earth's  farthest  places 
In  their  quest  for  harder  gold. 

But  tonight  stars  blink  and  quiver. 
And  trees  whispering  seem  to  say, 
"When  gold  failed  they  quickly  left  us 
Here  in  solitude  to  stay." 

As  shadows  deepened  deserted  cabins 
seemed  weird  in  the  mystic  twilight.  Trees 
with  their  fresh  spring  green  sparkled  like 
myriads  of  jewels,  as  stars  broke  through 
from  above. 

Being  a  lover  of  nature  more  than  of  the 
artificial  life  of  the  city,  I  walked  slowly 
through  the  still  canyon,  but  life's  current  ran 
swiftly  in  my  veins.  Pines  whispered  to  the 
rippling  waters,  and  the  whole  atmosphere 
was  delightfully  fascinating.  White  peaks, 
where  the  sunlight  lingers  long,  were  darken- 
ing as  I  reached  the  hotel.  I  bathed  m}' 
hands  in  a  basin  of  cold  water  that  stood  in 


Vigilante  Days  5 

a  corner  of  the  office,  and  dried  them  on  a 
roll-towel  that  hung  close  by.  The  place 
was  used  as  office,  bar,  and  sitting-room. 
A  barber's  chair  stood  in  one  corner. 
Wooden  cuspidors,  with  sawdust  in  them, 
were  here  and  there  about  the  floor,  but  the 
loungers  seemed  rather  to  try  at  liitting  the 
stove  which  stood  in  the  center  of  the  smoke- 
filled  place.  ' 

The  old  man  who  told  me  the  storv  of  the 
first  Vigilance  Committee  was  quick-witted 
and  well  read  for  one  practically  self-made. 
He  was  vigorous,  but  his  shoulders  were  bent 
and  many  lines  showed  in  his  pleasant  face. 

He  was  a  JNIormon  who  had  drifted  away 
from  the  cold,  commercial  life  of  the  colony 
at  Salt  Lake. 

"The  first  name  given  to  this  camp,"  he 
said,  launching  into  the  story,  "was  Varina 
Cit5\  The  name  was  given  in  honor  of  the 
wife  of  the  Confederate  President,  Jefferson 
Davis,  but  afterwards  was  changed  to  Vir- 
ginia City. 

"My  mother  was  a  New  England  woman," 
he  continued,  "and  imparted  to  me  the  love 
and  affection  of  her  people.  She  was  never 
a  IMormon  at  heart." 


6  Sketches  of  Butte 

He  sat  for  a  moment  his  eyes  resting  on 
the  floor.  I  asked  him  why  she  married  into 
the  Mormon  church.  His  answer  was: 
"Please  do  not  ask  me."  His  sad  voice 
dismissed  the  subject. 

"My  father,"  he  said,  "was  an  Enghsh- 
man;  strong  mentally,  but  slight  of  physique. 
My  mother  was  his  fifth  and  last  wife.  By 
the  five  wives  he  had  twenty-five  children. 
All  who  lived  were  both  mentally  and  phys- 
ically strong,  and,  I  think,  above  the  average. 
When  I  was  a  boy  just  passing  into  man- 
hood, my  father  talked  to  me  of  the  future. 
I  listened — that  was  all.  He  said  to  me  that 
day:  'My  son,  you  will  soon  have  reached  the 
age  when  it  will  be  wise  for  you  to  take  unto 
yourself  a  wife.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  how 
I  chose  my  wives,  and  I  wish  you  to  follow 
my  example.' 

"He  told  me  how  the  sire  gave  the  mental 
characteristics  to  a  child,  while  the  mother 
imparted  the  physical.  As  he  finished  he 
said,  'So,  son,  in  selecting  a  wife,  look  for 
physical  charms  as  a  farmer  would  select  a 
desirable  spot  for  a  garden.  Do  not  allow 
that  emotion  the  Gentiles  call  love  to  enter 
vour  mind.' 


Vigilante  Days  7 

"Wliile  listening  to  liim  my  thoughts  went 
out  to  a  little  schoolmate.  Although  only  a 
boy  I  loved  the  little  girl  devotedly  and  re- 
volted at  my  father's  suggestion." 

"Did  you  marry  her?"  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,"  he  smiled.  "We  kept  our  secret 
from  the  world,  guarding  it  as  we  would  a 
great  treasure.  When  I  reached  the  age  of 
eighteen,  my  father  again  talked  to  me  and 
suggested  I  take  my  first  wife.  I  was  then 
a  man  grown  and  fully  able  to  provide  a 
home." 

"I  suppose  you  were  not  long  in  deciding, 
were  you?"  I  said,  in  a  joking  way. 

"jSTo,"  he  smiled  again.  "She  soon  became 
my  wife. 

"As  the  colony  at  Salt  Lake  grew  to  be 
a  city,"  he  continued,  "the  people  spread  out 
to  nearby  territories,  my  people  coming  to 
this  state — then  a  territory.  We  left  Zion 
one  morning  at  sunrise.  My  father,  his  wives 
and  younger  children,  my  wife  and  myself, 
comprised  the  little  band  that  headed  for 
Bannack,  our  future  home.  We  were  two 
months  making  the  journey,  for  we  suffered 
much  from  small  bands  of  renegade  Indians 
and   often   spent   days   in   hiding.     At   such 


8  Sketches  of  Butte 

times  it  was  necessary  to  blindfold  our  horses 
and  muzzle  their  mouths,  the  covering  being 
removed  only  when  they  were  fed  and  wat- 
ered, for  their  whinny  would  tell  the  Indians 
of  our  whereabouts. 

"When  on  the  march  and  camped  for  the 
night  I  would  take  my  place  at  the  edge  of 
the  little  camp  and  sit  with  gun  in  hand 
during  the  long,  lonesome  hours  of  the  night, 
guarding  the  loved  ones  while  they  slept  and 
taking  my  rest  during  the  day  as  we  jour- 
neyed on.  My  wife  drove  the  horses  while 
I  slept  on  the  bed  of  the  dead-ax  wagon." 

"Did  you  not  have  mattresses?"  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  laughed,  "of  course  not.  At  first 
we  had  ticks  filled  with  dried  wild  grass,  but 
at  different  times  when  we  were  in  hiding 
the  contents  of  those  ticks  had  to  go  to  feed 
the  horses,  for  they  could  not  get  the  native 
grass.  Before  we  reached  Bannack  the  last 
tick  had  been  emptied  and  we  were  sleeping 
on  the  hard  boards  of  the  wagon-bed.  I  chill 
when  I  think  of  those  nights  of  watching, 
and  the  heavy  mist  that  came  just  before 
the  break-o'-day,  shutting  from  view  the 
bright  stars,  and  spreading  its  gray  mantle 
over  the  slumbering  earth.     It  was  damp  and 


Vigilante  Days  9 

frosty.  Trees  and  rocks  sparkled  like  ciys- 
tals,  while  the  blue-green  sage-brush  was  like 
waves  of  silver  spangles." 

I  watched  him  closely  as  he  spoke.  There 
was  an  exquisite  refinement  beneath  that 
rough  exterior,  and  the  picture  he  gave  was 
beautiful. 

"It  was  a  strain  every  moment  of  the 
night,"  he  said  quietly,  looking  down,  "and 
I  was  glad  to  see  the  morning  star  dim,  and 
feel  the  air  grow  balmy  as  the  crimson  rays 
of  the  rising  sun  appeared.  Those  were 
anxious,  but  happy  days.  The  buffalo  and 
antelope  wandered  at  will.  We  could  kill 
prairie  chickens,  grouse  and  sage  hens  with 
a  stick. 

"When  we  reached  Bannack  our  trying 
days  came,  for  the  camp  and  surrounding 
country  were  cursed  with  a  lawless  gang  of 
robbers  and  murderers  who  spent  their  time 
in  gambling  and  licentiousness  of  the  vilest 
description.  Lewd  women  from  the  slums 
of  Eastern  cities  were  brought  into  the  com- 
munity, and  their  resorts  were  hell-holes  where 
many  men  were  entrapped,  robbed  and  mur- 
dered." 


10  Sketches  of  Butte 

"Those  certainly  must  have  been  stirring 
times,"  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,"  he  continued.  "Men  who  fre- 
quented the  dance-houses  for  recreation  were 
reheved  of  eveiy  dollar  they  took  there,  and 
those  who  expressed  themselves  as  opposed 
to  the  bagnios  and  revolting  horrors  were 
shot,  or  in  other  manner  mm'dered  by  un- 
known persons. 

"As  the  days  passed  the  ruffian  power  in- 
creased until  it  became  absolutely  necessary 
to  take  action.  We  were  face  to  .face  with  a 
dreadful  issue,  and  at  last  the  better  element 
arranged  for  a  secret  meeting  to  be  held  at 
my  father's  home.  This  meeting  of  strong 
and  pure-hearted  men  took  place  just  before 
dawn  one  cold  winter  night,  that  hour  being 
chosen  as  it  was  a  time  when  fewer  people 
were  astir.  The  men  came  one  or  two  at  a 
time  so  as  not  to  arouse  suspicion  for  that 
might  mean  death. 

"At  the  meeting  we  discussed  the  situation 
and  the  question,  'Have  we  the  right  to  con- 
demn to  death  a  felloe  man?'  The  decision 
we  came  to  was,  'Yes,  we  have  the  right  to 
protect  our  wives,  daughters,  property  and 
ourselves  against  the  worthless  element.'    We 


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Vigilante  Days  11 

felt  it  a  duty,  in  the  absence  of  the  law,  to 
become  a  'Court  of  Justice,'  to  handle  the 
question.  We  realized  we  were  face  to  face 
with  an  organized  body  of  murderers,  men 
and  women  saturated  with  social  vice  of  the 
most  repugnant  nature. 

"AVhen  a  criminal  was  found  in  the  com- 
munity he  was  quietly  taken  away  and  given 
a  trial.  If  death  was  the  sentence  he  was 
quickly  hanged.  If  the  sentence  was  banish- 
ment, he  was  taken  a  few  miles  away  and 
told  to  go,  and  he  never  came  back,  for  he 
knew  to  return  meant  death.  A  suspicious 
character  was  warned  to  leave  by  placing 
3-7-77  on  his  cabin  door,  or  pinning  the  nmn- 
bers  on  his  pillow;  3  meant  a  grave  three 
feet  wide,  7  the  number  of  feet  long,  and  77 
inches  deep. 

"It  was  not  long  after  the  organization  of 
the  Vigilantes  that  peace  and  security  came 
to  the  people,  and  a  lock  was  seldom  found 
on  a  door,  for  robbery  became  almost  un- 
known. 

"Then  for  a  while  came  happy  days.  In 
winter  time  the  firelight  danced  cheerfully 
in  our  little  log  cabin  home,  casting  fantastic 
reflections  on  the  whitewashed  walls;  and  in 


12  Sketches  of  Butte 

sunuiier  time  soft  perfume  of  wild  flowers 
filled  that  same  room  w^here  little  tots  played 
with  rag  dolls.  Oh,  how  I  loved  that  life! 
Our  home  was  filled  with  love — the  exquisite 
old-fashioned  love  we  see  so  little  of  these  days. 

"A  few  years  after  peace  and  quiet  came 
to  us  our  happiness  was  marred  by  my 
mother's  passing  away.  One  day  not  long 
before  death  came  I  was  alone  with  her.  It 
was  then  she  asked  me  not  to  become  polyg- 
amous. This  was  not  difficult  for  me  to 
promise,  for  I  had  no  intention  of  taking 
another  wife.  Not  long  after  her  funeral 
my  father  began  preparations  for  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Salt  Lake.  Then  a  break  came  be- 
tween us,  for  he  wished  me  to  take  another 
wife."  The  old  man  left  his  chair  and  walked 
to  a  window  where  he  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments; then  turning  to  me,  said: 

"Come,  it's  a  beautiful  moonlight  night; 
let  us  take  a  walk.  I  will  show  you  an  old 
scantling  down  the  street  where  many  lynch- 
ings  have  taken  place." 

Soon  after  we  had  left  the  smoke-filled 
room,  he  turned  to  me  again  and  said:  "I  do 
not  often  have  an  opportunity  like  this.  I 
get    lonesome,    and    hungry    mentally.      My 


Vigilante  Days  13 

wife  has  passed  away  and  my  children  are 
all  married,  so  there  seems  little  else  for  me 
to  do  evenings  but  sit  and  listen  to  the  clink 
of  poker  chips.  When  an  intelligent  'tender- 
foot' comes  along,  I  enjoy  talking  to  him." 

He  smiled  as  he  looked  up  to  the  clear 
moon.  "It  is  such  a  wonderfully  bright 
night,  perhaps  we  shall  hear  a  Montana 
nightingale  sing  before  we  return." 

We  had  gone  but  a  few  yards  when 
he  stopped  suddenly.  "Listen,"  he  said. 
"There  it  is  now." 

It  was  the  mournfid  howl  of  a  coyote.  On 
the  brow  of  a  nearby  hill,  in  fine  silhouette, 
stood  the  timid  animal  with  head  uplifted  to 
the  moon — the  guardian  of  the  night.  "The 
time  they  seem  'to  be  bravest,"  he  said,  "is 
when  the  moon  shines  brightest.  Whether 
or  not  the  mournful  wail  is  a  supplication, 
human  mind  has  never  been  able  to  tell." 

He  stopped  as  we  turned  a  corner.  "I 
would  like  to  show  you  the  spot  near  Ban- 
nack  where  we  executed  'Dutch  John'  and 
several  others,"  he  said,  "but  perhaps  this 
will  interest  you  as  much.  The  biggest  lynch- 
ing that  was  ever  pulled  off  in  the  Territory 
v-as  near  here,  but  the  first  was  in  Bannack. 


14  Sketches  of  Butte 

"In  early  days,"  he  continued,  "this  street 
leading  into  the  gulch  was  lined  with  hurdy- 
gurdies,  gambling-houses,  bagnios,  and  other 
hell-holes  that  seemed  necessary  to  the  hap- 
piness of  the  free-rangers  of  the  hills.  Road- 
agents,  thieves,  murderers  and  robbers  con- 
gregated here." 

We  walked  on  in  silence.  Soon  ]ie  stopped 
and  turned  to  me:  ! 

"Right  here,  one  night,  five  road-agents 
were  strung  up.  In  full  view  of  a  crowd  of 
people  five  ropes  were  swung  over  a  beam 
you  see  here,  a  noose  was  made  at  one  end 
of  each  rope  and  left  to  dangle  over  an  empty 
barrel  or  box." 

"Were  you  one  of  the  executioners?"  I 
asked. 

He  made  no  reply  to  jny  question  but  con- 
tinued: "All  but  one  professed  to  have  some 
religion  in  his  makeup,  a  something  that  had 
been  asleep  for  years,  but  suddenly  came 
from  the  dormant  state  and  manifested  itself, 
for  on  the  way  from  the  courtroom  to  the 
place  of  hanging,  one  of  them  turned  to  one 
of  the  judges  who  walked  close  by,  and  said 
in  all  earnestness,  'Will  you  pray  for  me?' 
The  procession  halted  and  the  judge  dropped 


Vigilante  Days  15 

on  his  knees  with  'Clubfoot  George'  kneeling 
on  one  side  and  Jack  Gallagher  on  the  other, 
and  there  offered  up  a  fervent  prayer  for  the 
welfare  of  the  souls  of  the  condemned  road- 
agents,  and  then  the  procession  moved  on  to 
the  scaffold.  When  they  reached  the  spot 
the  condemned  men  were  lined  up,  five  in  a 
row,  some  on  boxes,  some  on  upturned  bar- 
rels. After  the  nooses  were  adjusted  they 
were  asked  if  they  had  any  requests  to  make. 
'If  you  have,  they  will  be  heeded,'  said  the 
chief  judge. 

"  'I  want  one  more  drink  of  whiskey  before 
I  die,'  was  Gallagher's  last  request,  while 
Lyons  begged  to  see  his  mistress.  Gal- 
lagher's request  sort  of  stimned  some,  and  )an 
old-timer  called  in  a  loud  voice:  'We  told  'em 
that  we'd  grant  their  request,  so  give  'im  a 
drink.' 

"He  was  given  a  generous  'shot' — a  water- 
glass  nearly  full,  and  drained  it  to  the  last 
drop,  refusing  a  'chaser.' 

"  'Clubfoot  George'  was  the  first  to  drop. 
When  Gallagher  saw  his  companion  swing, 
he  called  out  to  the  throng  of  onlookers:  'I 
hope  I  shall  meet  you  all  in  the  hottest  pit 
in  hell.'     The  words  had  hardly  left  his  lips 


16  Sketches  of  Butte 

when  the  barrel  he  was  standing  on  was 
pulled  from  underneath  his  feet. 

"  'Kick  away,  old  pard,'  called  one  of  the 
others,  as  the  body  swayed,  'I'll  meet  you  in 
hell  in  a  short  time.' 

"After  the  last  criminal  had  paid  the  pen- 
alty the  bodies  were  left  hanging  for  some 
hours  and  then  turned  over  to  friends  if  the 
unfortunates  had  any." 

"And  I  would  be  willing  to  wager  every 
one  had  at  least  one  friend,"  I  suggested.  "I 
do  not  beheve  the  person  lives  who  can 
honestly  saj'',  'I  haven't  a  friend,'  and  I  do 
not  believe  there  is  a  person  living  who  hasn't 
some  good  in  him.  There  is  a  grave  by  a 
roadside  in  the  northern  part  of  the  state. 
It  is  the  lone  grave  of  a  woman.  An  old 
weather-beaten  fence  is  built  around  the  spot. 
There  is  no  marker  to  tell  whose  body  rests 
there.  Old-timers  who  know  hesitate  to  tell; 
still  she  had  one  friend  at  least,  for  at  Christ- 
mas season  a  wreath  is  placed  on  a  picket  at 
one  corner  of  the  fence  surrounding  the  grave. 
Stage  passengers  who  ask  are  told  it  is  a 
grave,  that  is  all." 

"Guess  you  are  right,"  he  said,  as  we 
turned   from   the   scene   of   the   tragedy   and 


Vigilante  Days  17 

slowly  started  back  towards  the  hotel.  He 
was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  and  spoke 
twice  before  getting  my  attention. 

"Why  so  pensive?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Jack  Gallagher's  last 
request,"  I  answered,  "and  of  an  early  morn- 
ing back  in  Iowa  when  I  w^as  a  young  boy." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said,  with  much  in- 
terest. "It  is  now  far  past  midnight;  your 
stage  leaves  for  Butte  at  daybreak;  suppose 
we  talk  instead  of  sleeping." 

I  was  glad  to  acquiesce,  for  I  knew,  should 
I  go  to  bed,  I  might  coax  slumber  in  vain. 
I  had  a  mental  picture  of  Gallagher  taking 
that  large  drink  of  whiskey  just  before  going 
to  the  life  beyond,  and  memory  came  to  me 
of  a  still  beside  a  river  back  East  and  men 
loading  whiskey  for  Montana,  and  I  could 
see  two  little  boys  in  white  night-gowns  sit- 
ting on  a  fence  watching  men  brand  cattle 
to  go  with  the  whiskey,  and  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  a  partner  in  the  deal.        ' 

"If  you  say  you  will  stay  up  I  shall  feel 
greatly  indebted  to  you,"  he  said,  "and  you 
can  tell  me  why  you  were  thinking  of  that 
last  request." 

We  had  reached  the  hotel  and  taken  chairs 


18  Sketches  of  Butte 

outside,  as  there  was  an  all-night  game  on 
in  the  office  and  the  players  would  have  been 
disturbed  by  our  voices. 

"Now  tell  me  why  you  were  upset  over 
that  last  request  of  Gallagher's,"  he  said,  as 
he  moved  his  chair  close  to  mine. 

*'I  do  not  know  why  it  should  have  upset 
me,  but  it  did  and  I  felt  guilty,"  I  answered 
slowly.  "My  uncle's  first  big  stake  was  made 
by  bringing  whiskey  into  Montana  from  our 
Iowa  home.  Now  as  I  look  back  and  see 
the  men  rolling  barrels  from  the  mouth  of  a 
tunnel  where  they  had  been  stored  since  the 
beginning  of  the  Civil  War,  I  feel  that  in 
some  way  we  were  associated  with  the  crim- 
inals. Who  knows  but  what  some  of  that 
whiskey  helped  to  make  them  criminals." 

"Are  you  a  prohibitionist?"  he  asked  seri- 
ously. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "but  I  am  strong  for 
high  license.  High  enough  to  do  away  with 
the  grogshop." 

"I  knew  your  uncle,"  he  interrupted,  "and 
I  remember  when  he  brought  the  whiskey  into 
the  Territory  by  'bull-team.'  He  also  was 
much  interested  in  the  Vigilante  game,  and 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  that  is  how  he  acquired 


Vigilante  Days  19 

the  title  of  'Judge,'  "  he  laughed,  in  a  teasing 
manner. 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  I  said,  and  I  told 
how  my  brother  and  I,  early  one  morning, 
crawled  up  on  an  old  board  fence  and 
watched  men  brand  cattle  to  drive  overland 
with  that  'bull-team.' 

"Did  5"0U  ever  go  back  to  the  old  home?" 
"Yes,"  I  said,  and  I  thought  how  I  had 
always  regretted  it.  The  childliood  picture 
of  my  old  home  was  that  of  a  big,  white 
house  on  a  high  hill;  a  house  whose  red  roof 
dominated  the  whole  landscape;  a  house 
whose  windows  looked  do^vn  over  a  wide 
basin,  and  over  a  wonderful  meadow,  across 
a  torrent  river  to  a  city  with  a  background 
of  wooded  bluff.  My  longing  to  see  the  old 
home  was  great,  so  after  many  years  I  went 
back  to  the  place.  Then  my  happy  dream 
faded  away.  The  big  house  wasn't  large. 
The  hill  was  a  rise  of  ground.  The  wonder- 
ful meadow  was  an  ordinary  field,  and  the 
wide,  roaring  torrent  a  placid  stream.  lowa- 
ville,  the  city  of  mj^  dream,  stood  near  the 
river;  a  store  or  two  near  grimy  houses  lean- 
ing awry,  their  broken  windows  staring  out 
over   farm   lands.      The    schoolhouse,    where 


20  Sketches  of  Butte 

children  once  woke  the  echoes,  was  tiimbhng 
into  ruin.  Fences  were  gone  and  tangles  of 
brush  and  briar  hid  unsightly  ruins  that  had 
yielded  to  the  tooth  of  time.  Now  and  then 
a  lonesome  dog-bark  was  heard,  and  I  was 
glad  to  get  away. 

"The  reason  I  asked  the  question,"  said 
my  old  friend,  "was  that  I  was  going  to 
suggest  to  you  not  to  go  back.  Things  are 
never  the  same.  People  change.  We  change. 
Different  environments  change  us.  Our 
trend  of  thought  changes,  and  it  is  always 
a  disappointment.  It  is  better  to  keep  the 
old    picture." 

While  talking  we  had  not  noticed  the 
approach  of  dawn. 


Chapter  Two 
FROM  VIRGINIA  CITY  TO  BUTTE 

My  mind  was  crowded  with  recollections 
as  I  took  a  seat  beside  the  driver  of  the 
coach.  It  was  a  bright,  crisp  morning. 
Deep  shadows  were  fading  as  the  sun's 
crimson  glow  mounted  higher  and  higher 
into  tlie  heavens,  kissing  the  snow-white 
peaks  which  were  like  sails  on  a  great, 
purple  sea,  for  the  clouds  hung  low.  Soon 
we  were  passing  down  the  main  street  be- 
hind four  prancing  horses  and  wheeled  into 
Alder  gulch   headed   for   Butte. 

Under  a  canopy  of  azAU'e  blue  the  scene 
had  lost  the  mysteriousness  of  the  evening 
before,  and  a  spirit  of  life  filled  the  air. 
Wild  flowers  that  grew  near  the  verdure- 
lined  brook  singing  on  its  way  to  the  valley 
below  opened  their  petals  and  sent  forth  per- 
fume. Birds  saluted  with  their  songs  the 
new  and  balmv  day,  and  life  seemed,  oh,  so 
full. 

I  sat  quietly  drinking  in  the  cool  mountain 

21 


22  Sketches  of  Butte 

air  and  feasting  on  the  rugged  scenery.  The 
di'iver  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"I  see  you  are  a  lover  of  nature,"  he  said. 
"We  are  now  passing  over  the  first  placer 
diggings  of  the  state,"  he  continued.  "Up 
in  Gold  Creek  the  first  nugget  was  found, 
but  this  was  the  first  real  '  diggings  '  where 
the  cradle  was  used.  This  road  follows  a 
trail  that  was  blazed  many  years  ago  by  the 
red  man  who  lived  the  healthy,  free  life  of 
the  open  long  before  the  pale-face  came 
bringing  the  vices  of  the  East." 

"I  suppose  that  is  what  changed  the 
whole  stoiy  of  his  race,"  I  interrupted, 
"from  romance  and  poetry  to  squalor  and 
poverty.  In  miserable  camps  on  the  out- 
skirts of  towns  they  hover  near  slaughter- 
houses, some  of  the  band  gathering  refuse 
while  others  sell  polished  horn  and  bead- 
work."  i 

"I  can  tell  you  have  been  in  Butte,"  he 
said  quickly,  as  he  touched  up  one  of  the 
leaders  who  was  lagging. 

As  we  approached  the  valley,  mauve  mist 
was  rising  and  the  scene  was  like  a  beauti- 
fully fascinating  estuary.  In  the  bright 
morning  sun  the  view  that  lay  before  us  was 


From  Virginia  City  to  Butte  23 

a  kaleidescopic  joy.  As  we  left  the  canyon 
the  scene  changed — so  different  but  just  as 
interesting,  for  it  was  a  ghnt  of  the  range- 
rider. 

On  the  range  that  sloped  down  to  the 
valley  hundreds  of  cattle  were  herded  by 
picturesque  cowboys,  some  silhouetted  against 
the  opalescent  sky  as  the  cattle  fed  on  wild 
grass  that  grew  on  a  rise  of  ground  and  as 
we  rode  on  a  breath  of  perfume  came  to  us 
from  the  larkspur  and  sage  brush. 

At  Sheridan  I  stopped  off  for  two  days 
and  then  took  a  ramshackle  stage  for  Butte. 
We  crossed  the  Continental  Divide,  and  at 
the  mouth  of  Nine  Mile  Canyon  stopped  at 
a  road-house,  a  place  to  which  in  those  days 
Butte  people  drove  for  recreation.  A  place 
where  the  society  woman  and  queens  of  the 
"red-light"  sat  side  by  side  as  they  shuffled 
their  cards,  where  the  man-of- affairs  and  a 
"secretary"  from  the  underworld  stood  in 
pleasant  intercourse  while  watching  the 
marble    ball    of    the    roulette    table. 

We  watched  a  game  of  faro  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  passed  on  to  the  barren 
stretch  that  led  to  Butte.  What  seemed  to 
be  a  low-hanging  cloud  hid  the  camp   from 


24  Sketches  of  Butte 

view.  Only  a  few  mine  stacks  on  the  brow 
of  the  hill  could  be  seen. 

To  accommodate  a  passenger  who  wished 
to  go  to  a  cabin  near  Timber  Butte  (a  hill 
where  one  lone  tree  grew  amongst  granite 
boulders,  thus  giving  the  butte  its  name),  the 
driver  turned  his  horses  into  a  road  leading 
past  a  Cree  Indian  camp,  the  city  dump,  a 
slaughter  house  and  four  cemeteries  huddled 
together.  The  Indians  we  passed  were  rem- 
nants of  a  brilliant  and  picturesque  tribe  of 
warriors,  now  forlorn  wanderers  waiting  the 
call  to  the  "Happy  Hunting  Ground." 

Not  far  from  along  towards  the  city  ore 
was  being  roasted  outside  in  the  grounds  of 
a  reduction  works,  the  fmnes  rising  in  clouds 
of  cobalt  blue,  fading  into  graj'',  as  it  settled 
over  the  town  like  a  pall.  Indians  called  the 
dumps  of  burning  ore  "stink  piles." 

The  driver  reined  in  his  horses  as  we  en- 
tered the  cloud  of  stifling  sulphur  and  cau- 
tiously guided  them  up  the  hill.  A  policeman, 
with  a  sponge  over  his  mouth  and  nose,  to 
protect  him  from  the  fumes,  led  us  to  a  little 
hotel  in  Broadway,  for  we  could  not  see 
across  a  street.     Lanterns  and  torches  were 


From  Virginia  City  to  Butte  25 

carried  by  some  to  light  the  way  through  the 
sulphur  cloud. 

I  was  tired  after  the  long  ride,  and  before 
going  to  my  room  for  the  night  asked  a  tall, 
thin  hack-driver  Avho  sat  alone  in  the  little 
office  of  the  hotel  if  there  was  such  a  thing 
in  to^Mi  as  a  Turkish  Bath. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "a  fine  one." 

I  asked  him  to  direct  me  to  it.  It  was  in 
a  basement  at  the  corner  of  a  street  not  far 
from  the  hotel.  I  walked  to  the  place  and 
passed  down  the  steps  into  a  room  that  was 
used  as  office  and  barber  shop.  An  attendant 
showed  me  to  a  dressing  room.  While  dis- 
robing, I  heard  loud  talking  and  laughter, 
both  male  and  female  voices.  I  paid  little 
attention  at  the  time,  but  when  the  attendant 
returned  to  take  me  to  the  bath,  I  spoke  to 
him  about  it. 

"Sure!"  he  said.  "We've  got  a  'swell' 
bunch  tonight." 

"Do  men  and  women  go  in  together?"  I 
asked. 

"Sure!  Come  in  and  meet  some  of  the 
ladies,"  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door. 

I  asked  him  if  they  did  not  have  private 
baths. 


26  Sketches  of  Butte 

"Sure!"  he  replied  seriously,  sizing  me  up. 
"Ye  ain't  skeered,  are  ye?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "but  I  do  not  wish  to  meet 
strangers  tonight." 

He  showed  me  to  a  private  bath  and  as  he 
closed  the  door,  I  heard  him  say  to  a  man 
who  stood  in  the  narrow  passageway:  "An- 
other 'tenderfoot'  in  town." 


Chapter  Three 

THE  STRANGER'S  FIRST  GLIMPSE 

OF  BUTTE 

The  Easterner's  first  impression  of  Butte 
as  he  enters  the  city  is  of  horror  by  day 
and  joy  by  night.  There  is  tragedy  and 
romance  in  the  very  look  of  the  place  and 
one's  breath  comes  quickly.  The  barren 
granite  boulders  of  the  richest  hill  in  the 
world  are  terrifying  in  the  sunlight,  but  as 
eventide  comes  on  tears  often  dim  the 
stranger's  eyes,  for  somberness  comes  with 
the  piu-ple  tinge  that  settles  over  the  scene. 
The  three  railroads  that  enter  from  the  East 
pass  through  tunnels  in  the  Continental 
Divide, — a  picturesque  range  of  the  Rockies, 
— for  the  city  lies  just  over  the  Divide  on 
the  Pacific  slope.  One  road,  after  leaving  its 
tunnel,  skirts  the  side  of  the  Highlands  rising 
above  Nine  Mile  Canyon.  As  the  train  reaches 
the  valley  it  passes  the  desolate  cemeteries, 
then  over  the  girders  that  span  a  slag-walled 
creek',    on    over    tailing   dumps    to   a   trestle 

27 


28  Sketches  of  Butte 

where  Frank  Little  was  lynched,  then  into 
the  station. 

Another  road  passes  through  canyons 
where,  in  the  spring,  the  walls  are  bowers  of 
wild  rose  and  forget-me-not.  In  the  rockeries 
many  varieties  of  wild  flowers  bloom,  and 
clear,  cool  water  sparkles  and  sings  as  it 
dances  over  the  stones.  The  train  enters  a 
tunnel,  emerging  in  a  few  moments,  and  the 
passengers  see  below  the  only  smelter  left 
in  the  barren  valley.  The  contrast  is  so 
startling  they  hold  their  breath.  "It's  more 
like  hell  than  anything  I  had  ever  dreamed 
of,"  I  heard  a  passenger  say.  Most  of  them 
sit  spell-bound  as  the  train  quietly  moves 
down  the  track  leading  past  mines,  through 
cuts  in  tailing  dumps  and  past  precipitating 
tanks  on  its  way  to  the  station. 

The  other  train  from  a  vallej^  on  the  At- 
lantic slope  laboriously  winds  its  way  up  the 
mountain  side,  and  as  it  emerges  from  a 
dripping  granite- walled  tunnel  the  passengers 
see  before  them  another  valley  on  the  Pacific 
slope,  dotted  here  and  there  with  road-houses 
where  society  and  the  demi-monde  join  hands 
in  revelry.  At  eventide,  when  mist  settles 
over  the  valley,  and  lights  are  on,  these  places 


The  Strangers  First  Glimpse  of  Butte  29 

look  like  phantom  ships  sailing  on  a  gray- 
purple  sea.  When  the  passenger  approaches 
the  city  at  night,  the  impression  is  wholly 
different,  and  he  exclaims  with  joy,  for  the 
eye  sees  nothing  but  beauty. 

Let   us   start    from   Jefferson   Valley   and 
climb  the  range  called  the  Continental  Divide. 

We  will  climb  the  rising  hills 

Where  the  stately  pine  trees  grow 

Towering  o'er  the  sparkling  rills 
That  seek  the  valleys  far  below. 

There  we'll  tramp  to  nature's  music 

While  her  beauty  all  beguiles — 
Tramp  from  mystic  dusk-wrapped   valley 

Through  the  green  forest  aisles. 

Till  at  last  the  gray  mist  spreading 

With  the  shades  of  eventide 
See  us  standing  there  together 

On  the  mighty  Great  Divide. 

While  the  beauty  of  the  sunset. 

Like  a  tired  child  sunk  to  rest, 
To  the  music  of  all  nature 

Now  is  fading  from  the  West. 


30  Sketches  of  Butte 

While  on  the  mountainside  to  northward 
Butte,  her  thousand  lights  ablaze 

Like  a  pall  of  brilliant  jewels, 
Bursts  upon  the  watcher's  gaze. 

Cloaked  by  night  a  thing  of  beauty, 
Though  ugly  in  the  light  of  day, 

Yet  even  so  her  odd  fascination 

Calls  back  her  sons  who  go  away. 

One  thing  in  the  city  sunlight  and  dark- 
ness does  not  change,  and  that  is  "Fat  Jack," 
the  hack  driver,  Butte's  most  picturesque 
character.  He  met  the  first  train  that  came 
into  the  city,  and  meets  them  all,  day  and 
night.  His  silk  hat  looms  above  the  other 
drivers  as  he  quietly  says  to  the  traveler,  "A 
carriage  uptown?"  From  the  beginning  of 
railroads  into  Butte,  he  has  been  the  one 
chosen  to  draw  up  the  hill  all  celebrities  visit- 
ing the  camp.  When  President  Roosevelt 
visited  Montana  the  last  time  it  was  "Fat 
Jack"  who  met  him  at  the  station.  When 
the  Colonel  came  down  the  steps  of  his  car 
he  waved  his  (hand,  and  called  "Hello,  Jack!" 
for  the  Colonel  never  forgot  and  they  were 
friends  in  early  days. 


Chapter  Four 
WANDERING    AROUND 

One  night  a  friend  came  to  me  and  said: 
"How  would  you  like  to  go  to  the  theater, 
and  after  that  just  wander  around  a  little 
and  take  in  some  of  the  sights?"  I  was  a 
stranger  in  town  at  the  time  and  was  glad 
of  the  opportunity. 

We  started  out  and  turned  into  Main 
Street  and  on  down  the  hill.  In  front  of 
a  building  with  a  sign  over  the  door,  "The 
Comique,"  a  crowd  was  standing  on  the 
sidewalk.  He  turned  to  me  and  said:  "We'll 
go  around  in  the  alley  and  enter  that  way; 
that's  where  the  respectable  people  go  in." 

We  went  to  the  next  street  below  and 
walked  on  until  we  came  to  an  alley.  Not 
far  up  the  passageway  was  a  light  hanging 
over  a  door.  He  opened  tlie  door  and  we 
passed  up  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs  leading 
to  the  gallery — as  it  was  called.  In  reality, 
it  was  a  circle  of  stall-like  boxes,  each  place 
a  compartment  with  a  bolt  on  the  inside  of 

31 


32  Sketches  of  Butte 

the  door  and  a  small  slide  where  drinks  were 
passed  in. 

The  front  of  the  box — as  it  was  called — 
that  looked  down  upon  the  stage  and  floor 
below  was  enclosed  by  a  wire  netting.  A 
scene  was  painted  on  this  screen,  the  effect 
being  that  the  occupants  of  the  compartment 
could  see  all  that  was  going  on  and  not  be 
seen  from  floor  or  stage. 

On  the  floor  below  sawdust  was  sprinkled. 
Tables  for  fom-  were  here  and  there  about 
the  auditorium.  Girls  in  gaudy  evening 
dress  were  waitresses  and  entertainers.  At 
intervals  one  would  mount  a  table  and  do  a 
terpsichorean  stunt,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  the  loimgers. 

The  performance  on  the  stage  was  on  the 
order  of  our  present-day  vaudeville,  with  a 
few  extras  to  suit  the  occasion.  An  encore 
was  the  signal  for  boisterous  applause  and 
the  throwing  of  coins  at  the  artist.  Many 
a  coin  went  which  might  otherwise  have  gone 
to  buy  a  loaf  of  bread  for  a  hungry  child,  or 
helped  to  pay  for  a  gown  for  a  deserving 
wife. 

We  had  been  there  but  a  short  time  when 
my  friend  said:  "Please  excuse  me  for  a  mo- 


<; 
Q 


Wandering  Around  33 

nient;  I  hear  a  familiar  voice  in  the  next 
box." 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned.  "We're 
invited  in  next  door,"  he  said,  with  an  amused 
smile. 

We  went  in.  There  were  two  occupants 
of  the  box :  my  landlord  and  a  painted  beauty 
seated  on  his  lap.  Soon  a  tray  with  drinks 
on  was  passed  through  the  slide.  A  small 
red  ticket  was  on  the  tray,  and  the  painted 
beauty  quickly  reached  out  her  hand  and 
took  the  bit  of  cardboard  and  put  it  in  her 
stocking.     It  represented  her  commission. 

We  stayed  but  a  short  time  in  this  place 
and  then  went  out  into  the  fresh  air.  We 
turned  into  a  street  running  east  and  west. 
It  seemed  like  a  street  leading  into  hell,  and 
parts  of  it  would  cause  one  to  close  one's 
eyes.  JNIany  men  and  hoys  were  idly  passing 
along  the  sidewalk.  Young  men,  splendidly 
receptive,  and  beautifully  unthinking  boys, 
were  there  just  wandering  about.  Chinamen, 
with  wash-basket  on  the  shoulder  hurried 
down  the  walk,  while  the  silent  Indian  with 
gay-colored  blanket  wrapped  closely  around 
liis  body  passed  quietly  along,  looking  upon  a 
scene  in  which  his  people  took  no  pai't. 


34  Sketches  of  Butte 

We  walked  slowly  along  this  thoroughfare 
of  the  underworld,  stopping  here  and  there 
to  make  observations.  Loud  music  from  the 
dance  halls  filled  the  air.  Now  and  then 
click-click-click  was  heard:  the  rattle  of  the 
red,  white  and  blue  ivory  chips  of  a  poker 
game;  innocent  looking  things,  but  tragic, 
for  many  represented  the  day's  wage  of  a 
toiler  who  was  too  weak  to  withstand  the 
temptation  of  the  bright  lights. 

From  beginning  to  end  the  street  was 
emerged  in  emotion:  here  careless  joy,  there 
sad.  On  either  side  were  one-stor>^  shacks, 
a  door  and  one  window  in  front,  the  name 
of  the  occupant  of  the  "crib"  either  in  gaudy 
letters  over  the  door  or  white  showing  through 
ruby-colored  glass  in  window  or  transom. 

Blondetta  stood  in  her  doorway.  Many 
peroxide  puffs  adorned  her  head;  her  cheap, 
showy  dress  was  cut  low  at  the  neck;  no 
sleeves  to  cover  her  large,  flabby  arms;  the 
skirt  came  do^^Ti  to  the  knees. 

Her  neighbor,  puffing  a  cigarette,  leaned 
lazily  out  of  her  window;  her  painted  face 
showed  the  lines  of  a  hard  life.  The  strollers 
usually  passed  her  by  and  stopped  for  a  chat 
with   French   Erma.     They   nevertheless   re- 


Wandeiing  Around  35 

ceived  the  stereotyped  greeting:  "Hello, 
boys!"  Then  the  eyes  of  the  "dope  fiend" 
would  almost  close  and  at  times  it  seemed 
as  if  she  were  about  to  fall  asleep.  A  foot- 
step would  rouse  her  for  a  moment  and  the 
passer-by  would  hear  the  weird  voice:  "Hello, 
boys!"  Some  would  stop  aJ  moment  and  then 
pass  on  to  a  more  attractive  shack.  Once 
in  a  while  an  old-timer  who  had  known  her 
in  her  pahny  days  w^ould  reach  in  his  pocket 
and  pull  out  a  few  silver  pieces  and  hand 
them  to  her  with  the  cold  words:  "Here, 
Carmen,  go  buy  yourself  a  drink."  Her 
long,  bony  hand  would  reach  out  for  the 
coins  and  her  painted  lips  form  an  invitation 
to  the  old-time  friend:  "Won't  you  come  in 
and  have  a  drink  with  me?"  "No,"  was  most 
always  the  answer,  as  he  passed  on  to  another 
"crib." 

I  felt  that  the  old  fiend,  as  she  stood  in 
the  realm  of  shadows  and  took  the  occasional 
carelessly-flung  bit  of  silver,  mourned  over 
the  ingratitude  and  falling  away  of  a  friend 
in  whom  she  once  deemed  she  could  confide, 
as  with  ever-increasing  force  the  barrenness 
of  the  empty  years  forced  itself  even  upon 
her   dull   consciousness — just   another   bit   of 


36  Sketches  of  Butte 

tribute  of  flesh  and  blood  that  the  pitiless 
city  exacted. 

Not  far  along  the  walk  in  another  "crib" 
"Jew  Jess"  sat  rocking  near  her  open  door. 
She  was  talking  with  "Micky,  the  Greek," 
who  stood  near.  The  little  one-room  cabin 
looked  neat,  and  an  air  of  an  humble  home 
seemed  to  surround  the  place.  A  bed  in  one 
corner;  in  another  a  stove  just  large  enough 
for  a  tea-kettle  to  sit  on  the  top.  A  few 
pictiu*es  hung  on  the  wall,  and  on  a  shelf 
adorned  with  festoons  of  home-made  lace 
there  were  several  photographs  arranged 
artistically.  While  rocking  and  talking  her 
fingers    were   busy   with    knitting   needles. 

I  do  not  believe,  after  all,  any  of  those 
women  were  there  of  their  own  volition. 
Some  tragedy  sent  them  there. 

Some  one  who  greeted  her  eye  in  the  smile  of  a  friend, 

In  a  voice  intended  to  sway ; 
Some  one  who  cared  not  for  the  bitter  end, 

Or  the  part  his  act  might  play. 

Typical  of  Butte,  these  little  "cribs"  were 
owned  by  influential  people  and  rented  to 
the  unfortunates  for  one  dollar  a  night — rent 
paid   in   advance,    for   respectability   best   of 


Wandering  Around  37 

all  knows  how  great  a  tribute  to  exact  from 
the  unfortunates. 

Some  ten  years  ago  a  moral  wave  passed 
over  the  city,  and  the  front  doors  and  win- 
dow's of  these  places  were  boarded  up.  Side- 
walks were  laid  in  the  allevs.  Beacon  lights 
were  hung  here  and  there  to  guide  men  and 
boys  to  the  passageways  where  the  imnates 
solicited  from  the  rear  door. 

Boarding  up  the  front  doors  and  windows 
of  the  "crib"  in  the  underworld  and  open- 
ing the  back  gave  more  latitude  for  crime. 
The  reformers  were  satisfied.  The  city  was 
not  deprived  of  its  revenue,  the  respectable 
of  their  rents,  nor  the  policemen  of  their 
graft. 

In  later  years  an  ex-official  told  me  how 
the  unfortunates  were  held  up  on  every  turn. 
He  said,  "There  is  a  state  law  prohibiting 
such  places,  but  the  city  evaded  it.  Once 
a  month  warrants  were  issued  for  the  arrest 
of  these  women.  The  warrants  were  served," 
he  continued;  "some  of  them  would  go  up 
to  headquarters  and  pay  a  fine  of  ten  dollars. 
Three  receipts  were  issued ;  one  for  the  Chief, 
one  for  the  city  and  one  for  the  woman. 
Some   did   not   go   up,   and   in  that   case   an 

274.524: 


38  Sketches  of  Butte 

officer  would  call  on  her  and  collect  the  ten 
dollars  and  give  her  a  receipt  that  had  been 
made   out  at  headquarters." 

He  said  the  policeman  on  the  beat  also 
had  his  graft.  "They  walked  along,"  he 
said,  "and  if  nobody  was  looking  he  would 
stick  his  head  in  the  window  or  door  and  tell 
the  inmate  to  lay  a  few  dollars  out  of  sight 
on  the  window  sill  where  he  could  ,get  it  when 
he  came  back  and  she  knew  what  would 
happen  if  she  did  not  comply." 

On  our  way  back  to  my  hotel  we  stopped 
at  the  Casino  just  as  "Fat  Jack"  drove  up 
with  a  "slmnming  party."  They  were  from 
Butte's  exclusive  set,  and  occupied  a  box 
directly  opposite  the  one  in  which  we  sat. 
They  seemed  to  think  it  was  more  romantic 
or  sporty  to  have  Jack  drive  upon  such  occa- 
sions. The  place  was  an  "underworld"  dance 
hall  with  cheap  vaudeville.  After  each  act 
the  patrons  of  the  place  would  adjourn  to  the 
dance  hall.  Here,  at  one  end,  was  a  long 
bar  where  men  and  women  after  each  dance 
lined  up  for  drinks.  I  watched  the  members 
of  this  "slumming  party"  as  the  night  wore 
on  and  they  became  riper  and  riper  after 
each    dance,    until    at    last    all    classes    and 


Wandering  Around  39 

conditions  joined  hands  in  "high- jinks"  of 
the  hvehest  character.  The  seductive  drink 
softened  the  veneer,  and  it  fell  away,  leaving 
them  in  their  natural  state,  and  the  world 
outside  was   forgotten. 

Finally  the  restricted  district  was  done 
away  with.  At  the  present  time  another 
reform  movement  is  on  and  some  reformers 
suggest  that  the  section  be  re-established  as 
a  protection  to  the  home  and  the  young 
people  growing  up,  for  now  it  is  a  case  of 
"Who's  j^our  neighbor?" 


Chapter  Five 
"DOPE"    COLONY 

I  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk 
one  night  opposite  a  hotel  where  from  the 
balcony  Roosevelt  was  addressing  the  people 
who  thronged  the  street.  A  young  man 
joined  me  and  presented  a  card.  He  was  a 
writer  for  a  New  York  publication.  What 
he  handed  me  was  a  card  of  introduction 
from  Colonel  Roosevelt.  He  had  come  as 
far  as  Butte  with  the  Colonel's  party  and 
was  going  to  stop  in  the  city  for  a  few  days 
to  gather  data  for  his  publication.  It  was 
a  pleasure  to  meet  him,  for  in  this  part  of 
the  world  where  one  gets  so  few  thoughts 
that  are  not  commercial,  it  is  refreshing  to 
come  across  a  genius,  and  I  cordially  wel- 
comed him. 

He  remarked  that  he  had  read  my  story 
of  the  "Snowbird,"  and  wished  first  to  see 
that  section  of  the  city.  'The  following  night, 
therefore,   not  long  after   dinner  we  started 

40 


Dope  Colony  41 

out.  I  first  took  him  to  a  drug-store  where 
the  proprietor  told  me  his  revenue  from  the 
sale  of  morphine  alone  was  between  five  and 
six   hundred   dollars   a   month. 

When  we  reached  the  place  it  was  about 
the  time  the  "hop-heads,"  as  they  are  called, 
begin  to  come  for  the  narcotic.  We  sat 
where  we  could  see  them  as  they  came  in 
and  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  store  where 
a  clerk  waited  on  them.  Packages  for  the 
regular  customers  were  already  done  up. 
They  received  their  "dope,"  paid  the  clerk, 
and  silentlv  walked  out.  "Callahan  the 
Bum"  was  the  first  to  come,  and  then  a 
"fiend"  aiTived,  who  always  had  four  dogs 
following  him.  As  he  came  in,  the  proprietor 
said  to  us:  "That  fellow  buys  quite  a  lot; 
a  prominent  citizen  gives  him  the  money,  he 
gets  the   'dope,'   and  they   divide." 

We  left  the  place  shortly  and  went  to  a 
fruit  store  where  I  bought  a  basket  of  fruit, 
then  with  my  companion  walked  to  Arizona 
street,  where  we  turned  and  went  south  until 
we  came  to  a  little  shack  that  stood  at  the 
corner  of  a  street  leading  into  the  section 
we  were  headed  for.  An  old  woman  addicted 
to  the  drug  habit  lived  in  here.     The  yard 


42  Sketches  of  Butte 

was  filled  with  rubbish  consisting  of  empty 
cans  and  bits  of  iron  gathered  by  her  from 
around  town  to  sell  to  those  in  charge  of 
precipitating   plants. 

"Butte  certainly  is  a  place  of  strong  con- 
trasts," said  the  stranger.  "I  notice  mine 
shafts  in  back  and  front  yards,  and  one  stands 
on  a  corner  opposite  my  hotel." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "and  children  play  on 
decomposed  granite  where  cows  lie  chewing 
their  cud.  We  have  the  extremes — the  best 
and  the  worst  in  the  world." 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  and 
pointed  to  a  tall,  thin  man  who  wore  a  silk 
hat  and  a  light  brown  uniform  with  brass 
buttons,  "who  is  that  odd-looking  fellow?  I 
know  he  is  a  hack  driver,  for  he  drove  the 
hack  the  President  rode  in,  and  how  fright- 
fully thin  he  is."  "Yes,"  I  smiled,  "that  is, 
of  course,  the  reason  he  has  been  given  the 
nickname  'Fat  Jack.'  That  fellow  is  known 
all  over  the  country  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Pacific;  and  has  been  the  subject  for  many 
a  'write-up.'  " 

We  now  turned  into  a  narrow  winding 
street,  almost  an  alley.  No  sidewalks  were 
laid  through   this   section  of  the   city.     INIy 


Dope  Colony  43 

friend  asked  if  these  cabins  were  built  by 
the  people  now  occupying  them.  I  told  him 
they  were  built  by  miners  of  early  days — 
days   of   the   placer   diggings. 

"A  little  later,"  I  said,  "after  we  have  in- 
vestigated some  of  them  and  discussed  certain 
of  the  inmates  we  will  go  over  to  the  original 
diggings  where  prospectors  looked  only  for 
gold.  In  these  tumbled-down  shacks  the  very 
air  we  breathe  whispers  of  tragedy." 

Society  would  seem  to  recognize  no  duties 
towards  the  dwellers  in  the  cabins,  but  so- 
ciety in  Butte  is  little  different  from  any- 
where else.  The  many  follow  the  leader. 
They  are  not  sure  of  themselves.  Should 
some  one  of  prominence  start  to  do  some- 
thing for  the  poor  wretches  here,  it  would 
at  once  become  a  fad  and  the  section  would 
be  overrun  by  hypocrites. 

We  now  neared  the  cabin  of  a  one-time 
society  leader  of  another  city.  "First,"  I 
said,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  "I  will  take 
you  to  a  cabin  just  around  the  corner  where 
I  want  to  leave  this  fruit.  I  know  the  life- 
story  of  the  poor  woman  who  occupies  the 
hovel.  To  most  people  she  is  merely  a 
woman  of  mystery.     One   day   she  told  me 


44  Sketches  of  Butte 

of  the  tragedy  that  had  entered  her  hfe.  It 
was  at  a  time  when  she  lay  desperately  sick 
with  no  one  to  care  for  her.  At  that  time 
she  thought  death  was  near.  The  poor  little 
withered-up  body  is  all  you  will  see  of  a 
once  beautiful  woman.  She  may  have  several 
friends  with  her,  victims,  of  course,  of  the 
narcotic,  for  they  hover  together  and  tell 
marvelous  and  weird  tales,  not  unlike  those 
of  the  absinthe  'fiend,'  but  not  as  cowardly. 
The  latter  is  possessed  with  pitiful  fear  and 
one  can  drive  him  with  a  wave  of  the  hand. 
I  studied  those  poor  wretches  at  Montmartre 
while  gathering  material  for  a  write-up." 

"I  should  like  to  hear  these  people  talk," 
he  said,  as  we  neared  the  door.  In  replying 
I  reminded  him  that  in  cases  of  the  drug 
habit  the  brain  becomes  so  thoroughly 
poisoned  and  abnormal  that  the  victims 
imagine  most  wonderful  things.  They  lose 
all  moral  sense.  If  they  have  a  friend  who  is 
not  addicted  to  the  habit  they  are  not  happy 
until  thev  make  a  "fiend"  of  that  friend. 
To  take  the  drug  from  them  makes  them 
criminals  of  the  most  desperate  type,  since 
they  will  do  anything  to  get  the  narcotic. 
Some  of  these  unfortunates  take  as  high  as 


Dope  Colonij  45 

fifty  gi'ains  of  morphine  a  day.  One  grain 
would  be  dangerous  for  a  normal  person, 
One-half  a  grain  is  a  strenuous  dose. 

"Tell  me  of  the  life  of  this  one  here,"  he 
said. 

"After  we  have  been  inside  I  will  tell  you 
the  storv  of  her  life.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  it 
now,  for  I  want  to  see  if  you  can  give  a 
correct  guess  as  to  her  former  life,  and 
whether  or  not  she  is  of  high  or  low  birth. 
Do  not  be  surprised  at  her  friendliness 
towards  me.  She  is  grateful  for  some  small 
services  I  have  been  able  to  do  for  her." 

I  pushed  open  the  door  without  stopping 
to  knock.  The  cabin  had  settled  and  the 
door  was  out  of  plumb  and  could  not  be 
locked.  There  seemed  at  first  to  be  no  life 
in  the  one-room  shack,  but  as  our  eves  be- 
came  accustomed  to  the  dim  light  of  one 
candle  burning  low,  we  saw  lying  on  the  bed 
two  seemingly  lifeless  women.  On  the  floor 
near  an  old  wreck  of  a  stove  lay  a  man  with 
his  head  resting  on  a  roll  of  rags.  In  his 
right  hand  which  had  fallen  away  from  his 
body  was  clutched  an  opium  pipe. 

"We  will  not  rouse  them,"  I  said.  "If 
awakened  now  they  would  be   sluggisli   and 


46  Sketches  of  Butte 

repulsive.  They  have  had  their  early  night's 
'shot'  and  will  be  dead  to  the  world  for 
hours." 

"This  little  woman  lying  here,"  I  said,  as 
we  moved  closer  to  the  bed,  "is  the  one  I  told 
you  about.  Take  particular  notice  of  her 
companion  and  I  will  tell  you  of  them  both 
when  we  go  out." 

He  did  not  speak  as  he  stepped  nearer 
the  dilapidated  bed  where  lay  the  two  stupe- 
fied figm-es.  The  picture  of  wretchedness 
was  too  much  for  him  and  he  quickly  turned 
away. 

"Come,  let  us  get  out  of  here,"  he  whis- 
pered, as  he  hurried  to  the  door  and  out  into 
the  fresh  air  of  the  narrow  street. 

We  sat  for  some  time  on  an  upturned  box 
near  the  side  of  the  cabin,  while  I  told  him 
something  of  the  history  of  the  unfortunates 
we  had  seen. 

Of  the  two  women  my  little  friend  had 
been  the  stronger  character.  I  say  "my  little 
friend,"  for  I  have  always  felt  a  deep  and 
real  sjTnpathy  for  her  in  her  great  sorrow; 
she  tried  hard  at  first  to  make  good.  She 
told  me  the  drug  held  her  in  its  grasp  like 
the  coils  of  a  snake,  and  when  the  craving 


Dope  Colony  47 

was  on  she  was  as  helpless  as  a  babe.  One 
day  when  I  went  to  see  her,  her  sad  little 
face  looked  up  to  mine  as  she  said:  "I  cannot 
give  it  up.  The  prick  of  the  needle  is  the 
pleasantest  sensation  of  my  life.  Go  away 
and  do  not  try  and  influence  me.  It  is  all 
the  comfort  I  have  in  the  world." 

Both  were  society  women.  Reverses  came 
to  them  about  the  same  time,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  invitations  became  few  and  far 
between,  and  soon  they  were  only  "memo- 
ries." The  little  woman  bore  up  like  a 
soldier  for  a  long,  long  time.  The  husband 
gave  way  first  to  drink — then  drugs,  and 
unknown  to  her  administered  morphine  to 
her  in  medicine.  She  made  the  discovery 
when  it  was  too  late. 

My  companion  inquired  how  the  drug  was 
taken. 

"Usually  whiskey  and  morphine  first,"  I 
answered,  "and  when  the  exchequer  gets  low 
they  resort  to  cheaper  di'ugs,  such  as  cocaine 
and  opium.  Cocaine  'fiends'  are  called 
'snow-birds,'  for  they  put  some  of  the  white 
powder  on  the  back  of  the  hand  and  then 
snifi^  it  into  the  nose.  Morphine  is  sometimes 
prepared  in  a  substance  that  resembles  a  mint 


48  Sketches  of  Butte 

wafer  and  'fiends'  are  often  seen  chewino- 
them  while  standing  around  the  street.  Men 
are  perhaps  more  prone  to  'hit'  the  opium 
pipe,  but  I  have  seen  in  the  Mott  Street  sec- 
tion of  New  York  City  men  and  women — 
white,  brown  and  yellow — lounging  together 
in  one  room,  all  enjoying  the  sensation  of 
the  pipe." 

"That  other  woman,"  I  continued,  "was 
handsome,  restless  and  susceptible  to  the 
suave  words  of  man.  After  her  husband's 
death  a  coward  broke  her  life  and  made  her 
what  she  is.  She  was  ambitious  and  believed 
the  promises  he  made  to  her. 

"This  fellow  knew  she  was  not  strong 
enough  mentally  to  battle  with  financial  re- 
verses. He  wound  his  coils  around  her,  and 
she  soon  became  his  mistress  and  from  day 
to  day  sank  lower.  He  tired  of  her  and 
deserted  her;  she  then  quickly  drifted  down." 

In  another  cabin  visited  that  evening  on 
our  walk  we  saw  an  unusual  character.  I 
knew  her  years  ago  in  a  western  city;  she  was 
then  a  leader  in  social  and  other  affairs,  and 
at  the  opening  of  an  opera  house  she  was  one 
of  a  theater  party  I  attended.  The  party  was 
given  by  an  editor-in-chief  of  a  leading  news- 


Dope  Colony  49 

paper.  Years  after  I  came  down  to  the 
cabin  we  have  just  left.  The  Httle  woman 
we  have  seen  was  desperately  sick  with  pneu- 
monia and  I  had  come  to  see  what  I  could  do 
for  her.  Another  woman,  seemingly  a  stranger 
to  me,  was  there — blear-eyed  and  dopey. 
There  seemed  to  be  something  familiar 
about  her — a  something  I  had  seen  before. 
As  she  sat  in  the  little  cabin  I  studied  her 
interesting  face.  Even  in  that  condition  her 
conversation  w^as  colored  with  aphorism.  I 
think  what  first  interested  me  most  and 
caused  me  to  study  her  more  closely  was  the 
relic  of  a  one-time  beautiful  gown  she  was 
v/earing  and  the  artistic  arrangement  of  her 
hair.  Bit  by  bit  recognition  came  to  me  and 
I  was  staggered. 

I  did  not  let  her  know  I  recognized  her 
until  later  when  I  went  to  her  cabin  to  trv 
and  find  out  what  had  brought  her  to  that 
end.  At  first  she  strenuously  denied  her 
identity,  but  when  she  found  it  was  of  no 
use,  the  scene  was  most  pitiful.  In  her  day 
she  had  been  beautiful,  talented,  and  with  a 
charm  of  manner  possessed  by  few.  Flat- 
tery ruined  her,  and  the  home  was  neglected. 
What    a   home   she   could   have   made   for   a 


50  Sketches  of  Butte 

group  of  little  tots:  a  life  of  love,  happiness, 
ease  and  content.  Flattery  blinded  her  and 
led  her  on  a  chase  for  the  thing  she  thought 
would  bring  happiness.  In  a  manner  she 
attained  the  thing  she  looked  for,  but  like 
the  fabled  apple  of  Hesperides,  it  turned  to 
ashes  on  her  lips.  It  ruined  the  home  and 
she  drifted  to  the  shadows,  and  now  she  is 
what  we  find  her  todaj^:  a  helpless  "dope 
fiend,"  and  the  people  in  the  other  part  of 
town  close  their  eyes  to  this  section. 

The  tendency  in  fact  is  to  kick  these  un- 
fortunates a  little  lower.  I  have  been  criti- 
cized severely  by  some  eminently  respectable 
people  for  coming  here  and  helping  them  in 
small  ways.  The  day  I  went  to  see  this 
woman  she  implored  me  to  write  to  her  hus- 
band and  ask  him  to  come  to  her  and  close 
all  the  gates  of  grief.  I  did  as  she  requested, 
and  in  about  one  week's  time  a  reply  to  my 
letter  came.  It  told  of  his  death.  As  I  read 
the  letter  to  her  I  watched  her  expression 
change  and  my  mind  traveled  back  to  Rock 
Creek  cemetery  near  Washington,  D.  C, 
where  an  unknown  grave  is  marked  by  a 
statue  by  Saint   Gaudens,   called   "Grief." 

It  is  the  figure  of  a  beautiful  woman  with 


Dope  Colony  51 

a  face  that  haunts  one.  With  her  chin  rest- 
ing on  her  hand,  she  gazes  into  space  with 
the  longing,  appeahng  look  of  one  who  has 
suffered  much.  The  expression  of  the  face 
but  reveals  more  vividly  the  look  of  the  eyes, 
and  there  she  sits  day  and  night,  year  in  and 
year  out,  looking  for  the  thing  she  lost,  wait- 
ing its  return.  It  passed  her  once:  she  did 
not  realize  it  was  going  away.  It  has  called 
her  the  last  time. 

"Come,  let  us  go  in  for  a  few  moments," 
suggested  the  writer. 

We  stayed  and  talked  for  some  time  with 
the  unfortunate  woman.  When  we  came  out 
he  said,  as  he  slowly  shook  his  head:  "That 
scene  presents  as  complete  a  tragedy  as  has 
ever  been  written  by  any  of  the  playwrights 
of  modern  times." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "the  play  is  nearly  ended 
and  the  actress  will  soon  be  going  out  into 
the  night.  The  poor  woman  has  drifted 
beyond  help,  broken  in  health,  with  heart 
scars  that  will  never  heal.  In  the  still,  small 
hours  when  she  is  alone  and  without  'dope' 
thev  ache  and  ache,  and  years  cannot  heal  the 
pain  which  is  her  constant  companion.  Soon 
she  will  sleep  beneath  a  shroud  of  tansy  weed 


52  Sketches  of  Butte 

and  the  board  at  the  head  of  her  grave  will 
be  marked  'Unknown.'  " 

As  we  walked  on  I  suggested  we  had 
better  leave  the  diggings  for  a  daylight  trip 
and  go  to  Chinatown  instead,  as  it  was  on 
our  way  back  to  the  hotel.  "I  want  you  to 
go  to  the  Mission  where  I  often  go  and  play 
for  them  to  sing,"  I  said. 

The  Mission  was  open  when  we  reached  it 
and  a  number  of  Chinamen  were  idly  sitting 
about.  They  were  glad  to  see  us,  for  it 
meant  a  song  for  them.  One  said  to  me 
as  we  went  in:  "Mister  George,  he  velly 
kind;  he  come  and  play  for  us  to  sling." 

They  gathered  around  the  old  squeaky 
organ  and  sang  for  about  an  hour,  their 
preference  being  for  gospel  hymns.  While 
the  others  were  singing,  one,  unobserved  by 
either  myself  or  my  friend,  went  quietly  out 
and  returned  with  a  present  for  the  writer, 
an  act  of  courtesy  characteristic  of  the 
Chinese. 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  unhappy 
in  this  environment." 

"No,"  I  answered,  "I  am  glad  to  be  here 
and  in  my  small  way  help  some  wandering 
soul.     It  is  not  necessary  to  rush  to  the  big 


Dope  Colony  53 

cities  to  find  work  to  do.  Here  in  this  far 
western  city  one  can,  if  he  will,  make  some 
wretched  soul  feel  that  there  are  days  of 
spring,  and  the  dewdrops  still  sparkle  in  the 
hearts  of  flowers." 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "How 
splendid  it  is  to  feel  we  give  to  the  world  a 
pleasant   thought,   rather  than  take   away." 

We  had  reached  the  hotel  and  stopped  as 
we  heard  the  screeching  sound  of  wheels.  It 
was  an  ore  train  on  its  way  through  the  main 
streets  of  the  city  to  a  smelter  in  the  valley, 
turning  the  corner  where  the  hotel  stood. 


Chaptee  Six 

CEMETERIES    OF    BUTTE 

Some  say  a  cemetery  reflects  the  spirit 
of  the  people  of  the  community.  Let  us 
hope  that  sometimes  mistakes  .are  made,  for 
Butte  cemeteries  are  desolate  and  have  often 
been  the  subject  for  eastern  writers.  Graves 
cannot  be  dug  on  the  hills,  for  they  are  mostly 
of  solid  rock.  A  section  in  the  valley  was 
chosen  for  the  resting-place  of  the  dead. 
It  seems  as  if  it  had  been  the  bed  of  a  lake 
that  had  existed  long  before  the  white  man 
came,  for  the  wash  of  decomposed  granite 
from  the  hills  is  like  coarse  sand  and  in  it 
graves  are  easily  dug.  It  is  impregnated  with 
mineral  and  unsuccessful  attempts  have  been 
made  by  unfeeling  placer  prospectors  to 
make  locations  in  the  desolate  spot.  Here 
are  grouped  the  resting-places  of  the  Chinese, 
Catholic,  Jew  and  Protestants — I  should 
make  an  exception  for  the  Chinese,  for  at 
stated  times  the  bodies  that  have  been  buried 
for   a  certain  length   of  time   are   taken   up 

54 


Cemeteries  of  Butte  55 

and  boiled  so  as  to  remove  all  flesh  remaining 
on  the  bones,  and  when  that  is  done  the  bones 
are  packed  in  small  boxes  and  shipped  to 
China  for  final  burial.  Surrounding  this 
cheerless  spot  is  a  brick-yard,  two  slaughter 
houses,  the  city  dump,  and  a  place  where  in 
early  days  ore  was  roasted  in  the  open,  and 
the  fumes  settled  over  the  graves.  Tansy 
weed  was  about  all  that  would  grow  in  the 
lonely  spot.  Weather-beaten  crosses  and 
board-markers  were  much  in  evidence,  and 
many  a  tansv  knoll  told  of  a  broken  heart. 
Here  and  there  this  peculiar  green  shrouded 
a  suicide's  gi'ave  or  that  of  an  unknown. 
In  early  days  disappointments  that  led  to 
dissipation  caused  many  to  take  their  own 
lives,  and  many  unknown  by  name  who 
had  drifted  West  sank  under  the  weight 
of  sorrows,  and  now  sleep  in  this  spot.  As 
a  rule  frontier  cemeteries  are  desolate,  but 
I  know  of  none  more  forsaken  than  the 
old  cemeteries  of  Butte.  I  have  seen  in 
Alaska  barren  spots,  but  they  did  not  seem 
to  whisper  of  as  great  tragedy.  In  the 
Catholic  cemetery,  near  a  ravine  where  in 
the  Spring  water  flows  swiftly  and  washes 
much  away,  is  a  sad-looking  section,  for  it 


56  Sketches  of  Butte 

is  filled  with  tiny  graves — graves  of  little 
tots  who  were  blessed  by  early  passing  away. 
Two  new  cemeteries  are  on  Butte's  Appian 
Way  that  winds  across  the  "Flat."  It  is  like 
the  way  leading  into  Rome,  for  the  two 
cemeteries  are  on  one  side  of  the  way  as  the 
catacombs  of  the  Italian  city.  We  might 
draw  on  our  imagination  and  see  "Barney's" 
road-house  as  Saint  Sebastian,  and  one  a  lit- 
tle farther  beyond  as  the  tomb  of  Saint 
Cecilia.  Not  long  ago  I  walked  through  one 
of  these  cemeteries  and  did  not  see  but  two 
or  three  tombstones  with  American  names 
engraved  upon  them,  and  the  graves  are  rows 
of  verdureless  mounds. 


Chapter  Seven 
MANY    JOYS 

Butte  is  barren  but  not  shorn  of  all  joys, 
and  there  are  many  beautiful  spots  surround- 
ing this  unique  city.  Columbia  Gardens  is 
one  of  these — restful  and  quiet,  a  wonder- 
land of  nature.  The  air  is  filled  with  soft 
music  of  whispering  pines  and  the  song  of 
rippling  water  as  it  dances  under  rustic 
bridges  and  past  verdure-lined  paths  and 
beds  of  bloom  on  its  way  to  the  valley  below. 
It  is  not  a  canj^on  nor  a  hiatus,  but  more 
a  miniature  valley  and  benchland,  where  the 
perfume  of  wild  flowers  is  everj'Ti^here  and 
song  birds  carol  amid  the  branches  of  Cana- 
dian Poplars  and  Balm  of  Gilead.  In  this 
spot  grow  the  most  beautiful  pansies  the 
world  has  ever  known.  Surrounded  by  a 
great  profusion  of  flowers  there  is  a  minia- 
ture lake  and  a  handsome  dance  pavilion. 

The  electric  cars  leave  the  noisy  city  and 
pass  through  a  cut  in  a  tailing  dump,  pre- 

57 


58  Sketches  of  Butte 

cipitating  tanks  where  copper-impregnated 
water  from  the  mines  flows  over  bits  of  iron 
and  tin  cans  that  fill  tanks,  precipitating  the 
copper  that  is  in  the  water,  and  then  past  a 
smelter  and  on  up  a  grade  to  the  city's  play- 
ground, that  nestles  close  to  the  mountains 
of  the  Continental  Divide. 

In  this  pretty  park  as  we  pass  through 
arbored  and  bloom-lined  walks,  we  come  to 
a  spot  where  the  canyon  air  is  cool  and  re- 
freshing, and  where  the  artistic  fern  lifts 
its  head,  where  winds  breathe  low  and  waters 
softly  ripple  with  a  lullaby  sound. 

It  is  in  this  spot  where  grows  the  stately  fern 
I  go  with  my  love  so  pure  and  fair, 

As  seeking  rest  from  the  barren  city  we  turn 
To  this  quiet  place  in  the  canyon's  care. 

From  a  rustic  bench  in  this  sheltered  spot 
we  can  see  the  moon  rise  three  times.  The 
mountain  peaks  behind  the  park  give  this 
effect.  The  moon  comes  up  and  passes  be- 
hind a  peak,  then  out  for  a  few  moments, 
then  behind  another,  and  out  again  and  starts 
on  its  journey  through  the  heavens. 


►J 


o 

o 


3Iany  Joys  59 

And  at  our  feet  is  a  placid  pool 

Cool  as  the  canj' on's  breath, 
Its  waters  sparkle  like  a  wonderful  jewel 

In  the  rays  of  the  bright  moondrift. 

The  quiet  spot  is  a  place  for  trysting 
And  where  lovers  give  their  plight, 

For  the  God  of  love  is  in  the  perfumed  air, 
In  the  shadows,  and  bright  moonlight. 

Lake  Avoca  is  another  pretty  resort.  A 
few  years  ago,  a  party  of  Finlanders  were 
holding  a  picnic  at  the  lake.  One  made  a 
wager  that  he  could  dive  and  stay  under  the 
water  longer  than  the  other.  The  challenge 
was  accepted.  It  was  agreed  upon  that  the 
parties  to  the  contest  were  to  row  out  to  the 
middle  of  the  lake  and  at  a  given  signal 
dive  from  their  boats.  The  signal  was  given 
and  they  went  over  the  side.  In  a  short  time 
one  came  to  the  surface.  Some  moments 
passed  but  the  other  did  not  come  up.  When 
the  rescuing  crew  brought  the  body  to  the 
surface  it  was  found  he  had  weights  tied  to 
his  feet. 

Funerals  are  a  great  source  of  joy  to 
many.     A   young   fellow  hires   a  horse   and 


60  Sketches  of  Butte 

buggy  and  with  his  girl  follows  the  hearse 
until  it  turns  into  the  cemetery,  and  then, 
as  he  comes  to  the  gate,  he  whips  up  the 
horse  and  it  hurries  on  over  the  "Flat"  to 
the  road-houses,  where  the  rest  of  the  day  is 
spent  in  revelry.  Hardly  a  night  passes  but 
what  "Fat  Jack"  carries  a  party  of  "joy 
riders"  to  the   "Flat." 

It  is  over  this  "Flat"  that  one  of  Butte's 
old-timers  used  to  go  hunting  the  Jack- 
rabbit.  He  had  a  one-horse  vehicle  and 
would  put  his  small  children  in  the  bed  of 
the  wagon  and  start  out  for  a  day's  sport. 
The  horse  would  sight  a  rabbit  dodging  in 
and  out  of  the  sage-brush,  and  without  warn- 
ing to  the  driver,  start  pell-mell  cross- 
country in  pursuit  of  the  game.  Often  a 
youngster  would  be  jostled  out  and  the  horse 
travel  on  at  break-neck  speed  for  half  a  mile 
or  so,  before  the  father  would  discover  the 
loss.  He  would  turn  and  go  back  for  the 
child,  and  then  renew  the  chase.  Those  were 
days  of  real  sport, — happy  days  when  the 
pumpkin  pie  was  made  with  a  brown  paper 
crust. 

It  is  a  joy  and  great  lark  to  the  stranger 
to  take  a  meal  in  the  smallest  restaurant  in 


Many  Joys  61 

the  world.     It  is  a  place  between  two  build- 
ings, and  has  seating  capacity  for  six. 

A  young  man  who  had  been  a  "mucker" 
in  one  of  the  Compam^  mines  married  and 
went  to  Xew  York  on  his  honeymoon,  and 
while  in  that  city  he  called  on  one  of  the  high 
officials  of  the  company.  The  official's  family 
was  away  and  he  thought  it  would  be  a  lark 
to  take  the  young  couple  to  his  country  home 
to  stay  over  night.  Men  of  large  affairs 
often  do  such  things  when  their  wives  are 
away  from  home.  It  is  a  change  of  trend 
of  thought,  and  a  provincial  chap  interests 
them.  The  official  told  ine  the  story  one  day 
as  we  sat  on  the  upper  deck  of  the  old 
steamship  Baltic.  We  were  headed  for 
England  and  the  sea  was  rough.  He 
said  with  much  mirth,  "I  took  them  aboard 
mv  vacht  and  we  steamed  down  the  sound  to 
Fairhaven.  That  night  they  were  shown  to 
one  of  the  guest  chambers  where  were  twin 
beds.  I  was  going  through  the  upper  hall 
the  morning  after  and  met  the  housekeeper 
coming  out  of  the  apartment.  She  was 
smiling,"  he  continued,  "  and  motioned  me 
to  follow  her  as  she  passed  back  through  the 
door;  and  when  I  went  in  I  saw  the  occasion 


62  Sketches  of  Butte 

of  mirth — only  one  of  the  beds  had  been 
occupied.  There  were  not  many  twin  beds 
in  Butte  in  those  days,"  he  laughed,  "and  I 
suppose  the  young  fellow  lay  awake  most 
of  the  night  wondering  who  was  going  to 
occupy  the  other  bed." 

One  of  the  happiest  homes  in  Butte  is  one 
where  the  first  stones  of  the  foundation  were 
laid  in  a  matrimonial  bureau  of  an  eastern 
city.  The  young  bride-elect  was  shipped 
West  C.  O.  D.  It  was  years  ago  when  I 
was  on  the  Herald.  Across  the  street  from 
the  newspaper  building  was  a  matrimonial 
agency.  One  night  the  head  of  the  concern 
came  to  see  me  and  said,  "I  have  a  splendid 
story."  He  told  how  he  had  that  day  shipped 
two  young  women  to  Montana  C.  O.  D. 

"One  went  to  Miles  City,"  he  said,  "and 
one  to  Butte."  I  asked  him  how  that  could 
be,  and  he  told  of  having  received  these 
requests  for  wives  after  the  senders  had  read 
his  advertisements. 

He  said,  "After  the  money  for  the  travel- 
ing expenses  and  the  fee  of  fifty  dollars  had 
been  placed  in  the  bank  at  Miles  City  and 
one  at  Butte  I  bought  their  tickets  and  sent 
them  on." 


Many  Joys  63 

I  remembered  the  names  and  after  many 
years  looked  up  the  one  that  had  been 
ticketed  to  Butte  and  found  her  a  very 
happy  and  prosperous  wife  with  an  interest- 
ing family  of  children.  After  becoming 
pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  husband  he 
told  me  how  he  had  married  his  wife  and  the 

« 

happy  life  they  had  led. 

"At  the  time  I  lived  far  out  in  the  coun- 
try," he  said,  "and  did  not  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  meet  younff  women  and  so  resorted 
to  the  agency  and  have  always  been  thankful 
I  did — it's  safer  than  society,"  he  said  with 
a  serious   smile. 


Chapter  Eight 
FOREIGN   POPULATION 

Some  years  ago  I  was  traveling  on  the 
Rhine  in  Germany,  and  one  afternoon  while 
sitting  on  the  deck  of  my  steamer  enjoying 
the  ever-changing  scene,  an  Irishman  came 
to  where  I  sat  and  drew  a  chair  close  to 
mine,  and  as  he  took  a  seat  beside  me,  he 
said  in  way  of  making  conversation,  "You 
are  from  the  States?"  "Yes,"  I  answered, 
"I  am  from  America."  "What  part?"  he 
asked,  with  a  truly  Irish  accent.  "I  am  from 
Montana,"  I  answered.  "From  Butte?"  he 
asked  quickly.  When  I  told  him  I  was  he 
then  mentioned  the  name  of  a  priest,  and 
asked  me  if  I  knew  him.  When  I  told  him 
I  did,  he  said,  "He  is  my  brother,  and  in  a 
recent  letter  to  my  wife  he  wrote,  'Living 
in  Butte  is  about  like  being  in  Ireland.'  " 

Authors  visit  Butte,  write  stories,  and  go 
away,  but  they  do  not  get  the  true  atmos- 
phere.    They  come  to  a  city  of  upwards  of 

64 


Foreign  Population  65 

one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  and  do 
not  find  a  bookstore  in  the  place. 

One  day  I  was  walking  along  one  of  the 
business  streets  when  a  man  opened  the  door 
of  a  store  and  called  to  me,  "Come  in,  I 
want  to  show  you  something."  He  pointed 
to  the  side  wall  of  a  store  where  toys,  office 
furniture  and  stationery  were  sold.  It  was 
the  wall  opposite  a  soft-drink  fountain. 
"Just  think!  Seven  shelves  of  books  in 
Butte,"  he  said  in  much  merriment.  The 
proprietor  of  the  place  had  put  in  a  few 
books,  and  was  uncertain  as  to  the  advisa- 
bility of  the  venture. 

There  is  a  dry-goods  store  with  three  or 
four  shelves  of  popular  novels,  and  a  branch 
of  the  Post  Office  where  a  news  stand  is  in 
connection,  a  place  where  fashion-plates,  pic- 
torials, stationery  and  books  are  sold. 

While  making  a  report  on  the  alien  situ- 
ation during  the  period  of  the  war,  I  came 
in  touch  with  forty-seven  different  nationali- 
ties, and  during  the  sickness  that  followed 
I  found  I  had  overlooked  five.  There  is  the 
Finlander  Hall.  The  Greeks,  Turks,  Aus- 
trians,  and  tliose  of  many  other  nationalities 
have  their  clubs,  and  in  these  meeting-places 


66  Sketches  of  Butte 

the  native  tongue  is  spoken,  and  they  have 
literature  from  the  Fatherland. 

The  stranger  visiting  Butte  marvels  at  the 
attire  of  many  of  the  young  women  on  the 
streets,  and  the  powdered  faces  and  rouged 
lips  of  school  girls.  In  most  instances  these 
young  women  and  girls  are  not  to  blame. 
The  blame  lies  with  those  who  ought  to  set  a 
good  example,  and  who  do  not. 

The  foreigners  who  come  to  our  shores  by 
steerage  are  tagged  at  Ellis  Island  and  dis- 
tributed to  diffel'ent  parts  of  the  country. 
Those  coming  to  Butte  do  not  see  or  know 
anything  of  American  life.  They  make  a 
good  wage,  and  naturally  want  to  adopt 
American  ways.  The  wooden  shoe  is  laid 
aside  for  the  French  heel,  and  the  dress  is 
often  daring,  and  they  argue  this  way  as  they 
refer  to  the  different  society  women,  "It 
must  be  all  right,  for  they  do  it  and  they 
ought  to  know."  Those  who  adhere  to  their 
home  custom  are  more  picturesque  and  inter- 
esting. In  the  Italian  sections  where  the 
bright  colors  of  the  South  are  used,  the  pic- 
tm-e  is  fascinating,  and  helps  to  soften  the 
harshness  of  the  barren  surroundings. 

A    striking    character    passing    down    the 


Foreign  Population  67 

street  is  a  Serbian  priest  as  he  leads  a 
funeral  procession.  At  one  time  I  witnessed 
a  Serbian  funeral.  It  was  after  a  mine 
disaster  and  there  were  five  hearses  in  the 
procession.  The  priest  in  full  vestments 
walked  in  front  of  the  first  hearse  as  if  to 
lead  the  way  of  the  souls  of  the  departed. 

The  same  day  another  funeral  procession 
passed  down  the  hill  on  its  way  to  the  valley, 
and  in  front  of  the  hearse  walked  a  young 
man  and  woman.  The  young  woman  was 
in  white,  and  carried  a  wreath  of  flowers. 
At  first  glance,  without  seeing  the  hearse 
one  would  think  it  a  wedding  procession. 
Why  the  city  looks  so  strange  is  the  many 
different  nationalities  in  the  streets,  and  their 
homes  suggest  their  native  land  and  make 
a  conglomeration  of  architecture. 


Chaptek  Nine 
EXTREMES    IN    SOCIETY 

Once  in  awhile  a  few  of  the  old  set — the 
set  that  was  instrmnental  in  giving  Butte 
its  world-wide  reputation  for  lavish  enter- 
tainments, beautiful  and  beautifully-gowned 
women  and  bright,  dashing  men — get  to- 
gether and  travel  down  the  "road  to  yes- 
terday," but,  oh!  what  a  change  they  see. 
There  are  only  a  few  of  the  old  set  left 
and  no  more  sparkling  society  events  for 
those  of  the  old  set  who  are  left  have 
stepped  aside  for  the  newcomers  and  are  now 
merely  onlookers.  The  whole  atmosphere 
has  changed  from  the  brilliant  to  the  mass. 
The  person,  no  matter  from  what  walk  in 
life,  who  makes  a  "strike"  is  in  it  socially 
if  he  or  she  cares  to  be,  for  money  counts 
absolutely.  True  friendship  is  little  known. 
It  is  only  an  acquaintance  with  a  motive 
"what  can  I  gain  by  knowing  him?" 

There    is    so    little   mental   companionship, 

68 


Extremes  in  Society  69 

and  many  are  afraid  to  acknowledge  friend- 
ship with  a  person  who  is  not  subservient  to 
the  powers  that  be. 

Social  deception  and  character  assassina- 
tion appeared  at  the  beginning  of  the  gi-eat 
cojjper  war.  People  lined  up  on  one  side  or 
the  other,  and  the  old-time  goodfellowship 
vanished  and  they  would  go  the  limit  to  in- 
jui'e  a  person  moralh^  or  financially  who  did 
not  champion  their  cause.  They  were  abject 
slaves  to  one  side  or  the  other.  The  great 
battle  is  over,  but  the  morale  of  the  people 
is  still  upset. 

In  the  earlv  davs  three  establishments  sent 
their  modistes  to  Paris  twice  a  year  to  buy 
gowns  and  select  designs,  and  the  Butte 
women — beautiful  and  attractive — gowned 
in  the  latest  creations  from  the  French 
metropolis,  drew  admiration  wherever  they 
went. 

There  were  no  prudes;  no  conventionality. 
Gambling  houses  were  rented  for  a  night 
for  social  entertainments,  giving  men  and 
women  a  like  opportunity  to  "buck  the 
tiger." 

One  of  the  most  talked  of  social  affairs 
of  those  days  was  the  opening  of  the  "Irish 


70  Sketches  of  Butte 

World,"  the  most  exclusive  resort  in  the 
restricted  district.  Engraved  invitations  were 
sent  to  the  male  gender  of  the  "four  hun- 
dred," and  in  most  cases  the  R.  S.  V.  P.  was 
acknowledged  by  their  presence.  "Ladies" 
from  other  fashionable  resorts  were  there, 
and  some  stood  in  the  receiving  line.  Car- 
riages lined  the  street  and  men  in  evening 
dress  hurried  in  and  out  of  the  place.  Often 
on  a  pleasant  day  the  proprietress  of  this 
resort  would  be  seen  out  for  a  drive  on  the 
principal  streets  of  the  city.  She  used  to 
sit  in  an  open  landau  surrounded  by  three 
or  four  of  her  leading  "ladies."  Her  large 
diamond  earrings  blazed  like  the  headlights 
of  an  engine.  The  beautiful  women  and 
bright  colors  of  wonderful  gowns,  picture- 
hats  and  sparkling  jewels  made  a  picture  that 
resembled  a  bouquet  on  wheels. 

In  a  brief  way  let  me  give  a  pen  picture 
of  one  or  two  social  affairs  given  by  prom- 
inent people.  Two  having  taken  place  about 
the  same  time,  or  perhaps  a  week  or  ten  days 
intervening,  and  of  such  a  startling  differ- 
ence, perhaps  it  would  be  of  more  interest 
to  write  of  them,  and  the  impression  made 
upon    a    stranger    from    one    of    the   middle 


Extremes  in  Society  71 

states  who  had  read  much  of  Butte  and  held 
a  slight  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  some  of  the 
stories. 

These  two  people  I  am  to  mention  were 
nmnbered  among  Butte's  best  entertainers. 
In  fact,  others  w^ere  mediocre  in  comparison. 

This  first  function  I  am  to  speak  of  was 
given  in  one  of  the  first  substantial  resi- 
dences built  in  Butte.  When  fortune  smiled 
upon  the  family,  and  the  nmnber  of  little 
ones  increased,  it  was  decided  the  cabin  of 
frontier  days  was  too  small  for  their  comfort 
and  a  new  house  was  planned.  The  mother 
loved  tlie  old  location,  for  it  was  where  her 
happiest  days  were  spent;  so  the  old,  much 
beloved  cabin  was  supplanted  by  a  com- 
modious building.  The  home  was  ideal. 
The  mother,  a  natural  student,  imparted 
much  to  the  children,  and  her  influence  for 
good  was  felt  amongst  her  myriad  of  friends, 
and  as  the  summers  passed  the  sweeter  she 
bloomed.  She  felt  that  a  woman's  soul 
should  be  pure  like  a  white  bird,  unruffled 
and  unsullied.  At  her  home  one  found  in- 
tellectual rest. 

This  night  I  was  the  escort  of  the  visitor 
from   Chicago.     As   the   door  of  the   homey 


72  Sketches  of  Butte 

house  swung  open,  we  were  ushered  to  a 
stair  leading  to  rooms  above  where  we  re- 
moved our  wraps.  In  a  moment  we  were 
ready  to  go  to  the  floor  below.  About  half- 
way down  the  stairs  we  stopped  to  let  our 
eyes  travel  over  the  brilliant  scene  and  enjoy 
a  breath  of  perfume  from  the  fresh  blossoms. 
The  four  matrons  in  the  receiving  line  shone 
like  that  many  stars.  The  jewels  and  rich- 
spangled  gowns  dazzled  the  stranger.  We 
moved  on  a  few  steps.  She  took  me  by  the 
arm  as  if  to  hold  me  back. 

"It  is  more  brilliant  than  anything  I  had 
dreamed  of,"  she  softly  said,  as  her  eyes 
traveled  over  the  fascinating  scene. 

After  we  passed  the  receiving  line,  I  spoke 
in  undertone.  "This  is  one  of  the  few  homes 
where  money  does  not  rule;  where  the  atmos- 
phere is  honest  and  an  invitation  to  the  home 
means  friendship  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word.  Our  hostess  is  sure  of  her  position 
and  will  not  tolerate  the  yellow  streak,  and 
you  know  it  always  shows  in  one  way  or 
another." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  reception,"  was  all  she 
said,  as  we  moved  on  towards  the  library. 

Soft  notes  from  the  orchestra  came  to  us. 


EMremes  in  Society  73 

We  passed  on  into  another  room  and  were 
soon  lost  in  the  maze  of  dancers. 

"There  is  so  much  beauty  in  life  unseen  in 
colors,"  she  said  quietly,  as  we  passed  around 
the  room. 

"Do  you  mean  all  this  loveliness  in  our 
barren  city?"  I  asked,  as  we  left  the  room 
and  found  a  cozy  nook  where  we  might  see 
all  and  our  tete-a-tete  not  be  disturbed. 
"True — our  city  is  barren  and  ugly  to  look 
at,  but  we  have  so  much  of  the  beautiful 
surrounding  us  to  offset  that.  You  should 
visit  here  at  a  time  the  foothills  are  turning 
gi'een  and  the  canyons  bowers  of  wild  roses. 
A  time  when  small  flowers  lift  their  dainty 
heads  from  amongst  blades  of  crisp  grass 
and  kiss  the  heavens  with  their  perfume. 
Montana  has  a  greater  variety  of  wild  flowers 
than  any  other  state  in  the  Union." 

"Tell  me,"  she  asked,  "about  the  dance 
your  friend  is  going  to  give  next  week." 

I  smiled  as  I  answered  her.  "He  is  a 
prince  of  entertainers;  a  man  of  dual  nature. 
I  wish  this  affair  he  is  to  give  was  to  be 
one  of  his  honest  entertainments,  but  it  is 
not  to  be.  It  is  for  business  purposes  only. 
He  is  in  the  big  copper  fight  and  out  for  big 


74  Sketches  of  Butte 

stakes,  and  playing  the  game  for  all  there  is 
in  it.  It  is  a  case  of  'dog  eat  dog.'  "  I  said. 
"Both  he  and  his  antagonists  have  special 
agents  everywhere.  You  probably  are  at 
this  present  time  suspected  of  being  here  for 
some  sinister  motive." 

She  looked  much  surprised  at  my  words. 
"How  is  that?"  she  asked. 

"Butte  is  a  city  of  listeners,"  I  said,  "and 
you  no  doubt  have  been  reported  on  long 
before  this.  If  a  man  or  woman  comes  to 
the  camp  and  goes  about  his  or  her  business, 
attending  to  his  or  her  affairs  only,  he  or  she 
— whichever  it  may  be — is  looked  upon  with 
supicion,  suspected  of  gathering  informa- 
tion to  be  used  by  one  faction  or  another." 

"A  peculiar  atmosphere  to  live  in,"  she 
suggested. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "the  city  reminds  me  of  an 
island  far  out  at  sea:  it  has  individuality 
unique  and  interesting.  At  times  I  tire  of 
the  place  and  long  for  shores  where  the  sea- 
gull calls.  Where  I  can  look  out  on  the 
blue  waters,  where  all  is  restful  and  quiet. 
Where  I  can  expand  my  lungs  and  drink 
in  the  pure  ozone.  The  affair  next  week  will 
be  quite  a  medley.     In  preparing  the  invita- 


Extremes  in  Society  75 

tion  list  for  such  affairs,  he  calls  in  one  or 
two  of  his  attorneys.  'How  about  this  fel- 
low?' he  may  ask — or,  'Can  we  gain  anything 
by  asking  him?'  and  so  they  go  over  the  list. 
He  has  two  distinct  sides  to  his  character. 
When  he  entertains  for  his  friends  only,  it 
is  most  delightful.  Where  his  enemies  fail, 
is  in  a  lack  of  knowledge." 

"In    other    words,"    she    smiled,    "he    out- 
generals them  in  both  good  and  bad." 


Chapter  Ten 

SOME    INTERESTING 
CHARACTERS 

Many  people  do  not  understand  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  term  "squaw-man."  In  most 
instances  environments  bring  about  the 
pecuHar  connubial  state,  but  it  is  usually  the 
renegade  white  man  who  marries  a  squaw 
merely  to  have  some  one  to  take  care  of  him 
— gather  the  firewood — prepare  the  game 
and  hides  as  he  brings  them  in,  but  in  most 
cases  they  lie  around  the  camp  and  let  the 
squaw  do  it  all.  They  are  much  like  another 
type  of  male  who  infests  our  country,  and 
that  is  the  foreigner  who  comes  here  in  quest 
of  a  woman  with  money,  or  one  physically  or 
mentally  qualified  to  take  care  of  him. 

Butte  boasts,  and  has  reason  to  be  proud 
of  the  highest  class  "squaw-man"  the  country 
has  ever  known.  In  earlj^  days  he  loved  and 
married  a  squaw.  She  bore  his  children  and 
he  was  the  devoted  husband  and  father  until 
night  came  to  the  mother  and  she  fell  asleep, 

76 


Some  Interesting  Characters  11 

while  the  curtain  rang  down  and  her  soul 
started  on  its  journey  to  the  "happy  hunting 
grounds."  He  educated  his  children.  The 
daughter  returned  from  an  Eastern  school 
and  grieved  herself  to  death,  and  the  sons, 
excepting  one,  returned  to  the  tepee.  He 
then  married  a  white  woman,  and  later  on 
was  given  the  post  of  Ambassador  to  a 
foreign  country.  He  was  a  scholar,  and 
author,  and  recently,  at  a  ripe  old  age,  his 
tired  body  was  laid  to  rest,  and  at  his  grave- 
side stood  many  of  Montana's  most  influential 
citizens. 

How  odd  it  would  seem  to  a  stranger  to  see 
INIary  MacLain  standing  in  Broadway  with 
a  basket  of  cold  boiled  potatoes  on  one  arm, 
and  under  the  other  a  bottle  of  olives,  while 
watching  "Callahan  the  Bum"  trj^  to  commit 
suicide  by  hanging  himself  to  an  awning  rope 
in  front  of  a  iewelrv  store,  and  vet  this  last, 
an  actual  occurrence,  attracted  no  particular 
attention  in  Butte. 

Butte  in  her  days  has  had  more  interesting 
characters  than  am^  city  of  her  size  in  the 
world,  for  they  come  to  the  camp  from  all 
points  of  the  compass,  and  from  all  conditions 
and  Avalks  in  life. 


78  Sketches  of  Butte 

It  was  a  great  day  in  Butte  when  the  first 
taxi  cab  made  its  appearance,  and  much  spec- 
ulation was  rife  as  to  the  advisabihty  of  trying 
to  run  them  in  such  a  hilly  country.  Elliott, 
an  old-time  hack  driver,  was  one  of  the  first 
to  make  the  experiment.  One  day  he  came 
to  grief,  but  there  was  a  very  humorous  side 
to  it.  He  was  driving  his  taxi  up  the  hill 
from  the  lower  depot,  and  was  about  a  half 
block  from  the  Great  Northern  tracks  when 
the  warning  bell  rang  and  the  gates  were 
lowered.  The  taxi  did  not  slacken  its  speed, 
and  onlookers  heard  the  driver's  voice  as 
the  machine  smashed  through  both  gates, 
"Whoa—!  Whoa— damn  you!  Whoa—!" 
The  car  ran  into  a  telegraph  pole  a  few 
feet  beyond,  and  when  Elliott  was  rescued 
and  unhurt,  he  smiled  apologetically  as  he 
said,  "I  forgot  I  was  not  driving  the  grays." 
He  was  still  holding  fast  to  the  steering 
wheel,  but  both  feet  were  through  the  wind- 
shield. 

In  earty  days.  Senator  Clark  and  Judge 
Davis  were  the  only  men  allowed  to  wear 
a  boiled  shirt  and  starched  collar,  this  priv- 
ilege being  granted  them  because  they  both  had 
some  money  when  they  came  to  the  camp. 


Some  Interesting  Characters  79 

Judge  Davis  had  two  suits  of  clothes,  one 
he  bouffht  to  wear  to  Paris  when  he  went  to 
that  city  to  negotiate  the  sale  of  the  Lexing- 
ton JNIine.  Upon  his  return  to  America  he 
left  the  suit  in  New  York,  donned  the  old 
clothes  and  again  started  West.  After  his 
death  a  relative  applied  for  letters  of  admin- 
istration in  New  York,  claiming  the  deceased 
left  personal  property  in  that  state.  Upon 
investigation  it  was  foimd  the  personal  prop- 
erty consisted  of  this  suit  of  clothes. 

JMarcus  Daly  came  to  the  camp  with  a 
pack  on  his  back.  F.  Augustus  Heinze  came 
in  later  j^ears.  He  was  a  polished  society 
gentleman,  a  college  graduate,  and  a  young 
man  of  moderate  means.  They  all  became 
multi-millionaires,  and  all  except  Senator 
Clark  have  passed  away.  The  money  ac- 
cumulated by  these  four  men  did  more  to 
shape  the  morale  of  the  people  than  anything 
else  in  the  most  wonderful  state  in  the  Union, 
— wonderful  in  scenic  effect  and  possibilities, 
and  well  deserving  the  name  of  Treasure 
State. 

A  statue  of  Daly  was  placed  in  the  middle 
of  Main  Street,  just  north  of  the  Federal 
building.     One  day  I  listened  to  two  Irish- 


80  Sketches  of  Butte 

men  as  they  came  down  the  hill  with  their 
dinner  buckets,  and  stopped  to  inspect  the 
monument.  The  figure  was  in  dark  bronze, 
and  surmounted  a  granite  pedestal.  One 
said  to  the  other,  as  they  gazed  at  the  quiet 
figure  that  stood  as  if  looking  down  over  the 
city,  "Och!  Mike,  I  tink  it  do  be  a  little  dark 
for  Daly,  it  hikes  loike  a  nager,  so  it  do." 
"Dennis,"  said  the  other  in  an  undertone, 
"sure  it  is  pretty  dark,  an'  O'  niver  seed  Daly 
carry  an  overcoat."  As  they  stood  talking, 
a  stranger  came  out  of  the  Post  Oftice  and 
asked  one  of  them  to  direct  him  to  the 
Emergencj^  Hospital.  "Sure  O'  will,"  he 
answered.  "Begorra,  it  be  aisy,  an'  all  yese 
got  to  do  is  to  go  into  Crowley's  saloon  an' 
say  something  agin  the  Irish  an'  yese  will 
wake  up  there,  sure  yese  will." 

One  afternoon  I  was  passing  through  the 
lobby  of  the  Waldorf-Astoria  in  New  York 
when  I  heard  a  voice  call  "Mistah  Davis." 
I  looked  around  and  saw  the  speaker  sitting 
in  what  is  called  "Peacock  Alley."  It  was 
"Buckets,"  who  a  few  years  past  had  been 
a  race-track  "tout"  in  Butte.  "Ah-s  waitin' 
foah  Mistah  'Easy  Johnson,'  "  he  said,  "an' 
when   Ah   saw  you.   Ah  thought  Ah   would 


Some  Interesting  Characters  81 

like  to  speak  to  you,  f oali  you  was  always  a 
gentleman,  an'  always  spoke  pleasantly  to 
'Buckets.'  "  I  asked  him  how  long  he  had 
been  East.  "Ah-s  been  down  in  New  Jersey 
a-lookin'  after  some  bosses,  an'  thought  Ah-d 
like  to  see  New  York  befoah  going  back  to 
Butte.  JNIistah  Davis,"  he  said  with  a  happy 
smile,  as  he  straightened  his  red  and  black 
striped  tie,  and  eased  the  starched  collar, 
"Ah-s  been  bustin'  in  society  since  you  left 
Butte.  Needn't  tell  you  nothing  about  the 
game,  foah  you  have  played  it  strong  an' 
knows  all  the  curves.  Ah  was  ast  to  a  dinner 
at  one  of  yo'  friend's  house.  You  know 
that  'swell'  guy  what's  from  here,  an'  is 
president  of  the  States  Savings? — Well,  he 
was  one  of  um,  an'  Ah  understand  requested 
my  presence.  All  went  well  until  the  ice 
cream  w^as  served,  an'  them  'swell'  guys 
commenced  to  eat  it  with  forks.  Ah  didn't 
dare  take  no  chanst  of  it  drippin'  through 
the  prongs,  so  Ah  quietly  slipped  some  on 
mail  knife,  an'  befoah  Ah  made  mah  mouth, 
it  slipped  off  and  fell  in  mah  lapt.  Guess  Ah 
must  ha'  been  eatin'  something  hot  with  the 
knife.  Ah  was  there  with  the  conversation 
all  right,  for  they  didn't  none  of  them  know 


82  Sketches  of  Butte 

nuthin'  about  bosses,  an'  let  me  talk.  Tbem 
'swell'  guys  jest  set  back  an'  never  had 
nuthin'  to  say,  jest  give  me  the  floor  an' 
let  me  talk,  while  the  ladies  showed  their 
appreciation." 

It  is  interesting  to  watch  a  black  and  white 
shepherd  dog  at  night  as  he  guards  two  cows 
that  come  out  of  Dublin  Gulch  to  feed  on 
garbage  from  cans  that  stand  in  alleys,  or 
on  the  edge  of  sidewalks.  Each  cow  has  her 
different  cans,  and  the  dog  quietly  watches 
to  see  that  they  are  not  molested.  When 
they  have  made  the  rounds  they  return  to 
the  Gulch  where  they  chew  their  cud  and 
sleep  on  the  granite  slopes  of  the  old  resi- 
dential section  that  was  at  one  time  the  ex- 
clusive home  of  the  Irish, — the  Finlanders 
are  interlopers,  and  the  section  is  fast  losing 
caste.  It  is  a  narrow  place  extending  into 
the  richest  hill  in  the  world,  and  almost  in 
the  center  of  the  city.  The  little  cabins  are 
built  close  together  and  close  to  the  road.  It 
is  called  Anaconda  Road,  for  the  famous 
Anaconda  mine  is  on  the  hill  just  above. 
A  passer-by  often  receives  a  rotten  egg  or 
over-ripe  vegetable  in  the  back,  but  is  wise 
enough  not  to  investigate. 


Some  Interesting  Characters  83 

At  one  time  a  hanging  was  to  take  place 
in  the  jail  yard.  There  was  a  rooming-house 
close  by  and  the  windows  of  some  of  the 
rooms  looked  out  upon  the  grounds  of  the 
yard.  The  woman  conducting  the  house 
came  to  me  and  said,  "I  am  going  to  give 
a  little  hanging  party  in  the  morning  and 
would  like  to  have  you  join  us.  It  will 
be  quiet,  just  a  congenial  few.  The  view 
will  be  better  than  standing  in  the  yard." 
I  told  her  I  was  sorry,  but  I  had  a  wedding 
engagement  in  the  morning.  A  respected 
and  popular  old-timer  had  come  to  me  and 
said,  "I  think  you  are  a  good  friend  of  mine 
and  that  I  can  trust  you.  My  eldest  child 
is  to  be  married  tomorrow,  and  says  the  wed- 
ding would  be  a  happier  one  if  Papa  and 
Mama  would  get  married  first,  so  I  have 
arranged  to  be  married  early  before  the 
wedding  guests  arrive,  and  want  you  to 
be  one  of  the  witnesses.  The  public  will 
never  suspect,  for  they  have  never  known 
the  bride's  name,  and  a  license  would  mean 
nothing  to  them." 

In  early  daj^s,  before  the  time  of  the 
stage-coach  and  railroad,  caravans  would  meet 
on  the  plains  and  young  people  fall  in  love, 


84        '  Sketches  of  Butte 

and  many  began  housekeeping  in  a  prairie- 
schooner  with  the  honest  intention  of  marry- 
ing when  they  reached  a  place  where  there 
was  a  minister.  Some  put  it  off  from  time 
to  time;  merely  a  case  of  honest  procrastina- 
tion. 

A  lifelong  friend  of  the  hero  gave  the 
details  of  the  following  and  a  writer  wove 
it  into  a  pretty  romance. 

One  of  Butte's  prominent  citizens  is  a 
popular  and  lovable  character  who,  when 
Montana  was  a  territory,  drove  a  "bull 
team,"  and  in  later  years  held  one  of  the 
highest  political  offices  the  State  has  to  be- 
stow upon  a  citizen.  In  his  younger  life  he 
was  a  saloon-keeper  for  one  night,  and  the 
story  as  it  is  told  is  full  of  pathos  and  jocose 
combined.  The  young  man  gave  up  freight- 
ing and  became  operator  at  a  lonely  place 
where  the  rattle-snake  and  sage-brush  thrive. 
There  were  only  two  buildings  in  the  place, 
— the  one  where  he  held  forth  and  another 
occupied  by  a  woman  and  her  daughter  who 
gave  meals  to  the  freighters  and  whoever 
chanced  to  be  going  that  way.  The  mother 
washed  clothes  for  the  young  operator  and 
many  cowboys  who  came  from  miles   away, 


Some  Interesting  Characters  85 

and  soon  a  jealous  feeling  filled  the  heart 
of  the  young  man  as  he  saw  the  "cow- 
punchers"  take  long  walks  with  the  daughter, 
and  he  often  said  to  himself,  "It  is  wonderful 
how  many  things  a  'cowpuncher'  can  find 
that  require  washing."  As  time  passed  the 
young  man's  heart  became  more  restless. 
"I'll  fix  them,"  he  thought;  "she  loves  music 
and  I  used  to  play  the  concertina.  I'll  send 
to  Salt  Lake  City  for  one."  A  few  weeks 
thereafter,  when  a  train  of  freighters  halted 
at  the  widow's  for  the  middle-day  meal,  a 
square  box  was  carried  to  the  operator's 
building.  He  knew  the  meaning  and  was 
restless  for  night  to  come  when  he  might 
unpack  the  box.  "I'll  walk  way  down  the 
trail  where  they  cannot  hear  me,"  he  mused, 
"and  practise  some  before  she  knows  I  have 
it."  The  evening  was  beautiful  on  the 
prairie,  almost  a  desert  sunset  as  the  big 
ball  of  fire  quietly  sank  behind  the  sage- 
brush. Sunset  on  the  wild  range  is  most 
wonderful  in  effect,  and  the  crimson  glow 
that  follows  would  lead  the  stranger  to  feel 
that  the  heavens  were  afire.  The  green, 
purple  shadows  of  the  brush  are  mystic,  and 
where    the    glow    reaches,    the    sheen    is   like 


86  Sketches  of  Butte 

waves  of  fire.  This  evening,  the  sunset  hour 
was  fascinatingly  beautiful,  and  the  widow 
and  daughter  came  to  where  he  was  to  enjoy 
it  with  him.  He  wished  to  get  away,  and  to 
him  the  twilight  seemed,  oh,  so  long.  At 
last  darkness  spread  over  all,  and  his  friends 
went  to  their  home  for  the  night.  When  all 
was  quiet  he  stole  out  and  walked  quickly 
down  the  lonesome  trail  that  buffalo  and 
other  wanderers  of  the  plains  had  made  diu'- 
ing  their  daily  pilgrimage  to  a  creek  that 
lay  a  mile  away,  a  place  where  they  could 
drink  and  wallow  in  the  cool  waters.  He 
did  not  know  a  wandering  band  of  Crees 
were  camping  near  the  creek.  The  moon 
was  far  in  the  heavens  when  he  left  the  trail 
and  sat  down  in  a  clump  of  sage-brush,  and 
in  the  quiet  spot  began  his  practise.  He 
had  been  there  about  half  an  hour  when  he 
heard  a  weird,  dirgelike  chant  and  the  soft 
beating  of  tomtoms.  The  sounds  grew  nearer 
and  nearer,  until  at  last  four  Indians  stopped 
in  the  trail  near  where  he  sat.  One  came 
to  him  and  spoke  in  Cree  dialect.  He  under- 
stood, and  came  out  of  the  brush  and  tried 
to  explain,  but  they  did  not  know  his  mean- 
ing and  escorted  him  to  their  camp,  where  a 


Some  Interesting  Characters  87 

fire  had  been  made,  and  in  the  glare  he  saw 
an  Indian  maiden  standing  before  a  tepee. 
Like  a  flash,  the  meaning  dawned  upon  him. 
According  to  Indian  tradition,  he  had  pro- 
posed to  the  maiden,  and  in  return  had  been 
accepted,  and  they  were  about  to  celebrate 
the  betrothal.  A  young  Indian  buck  falling 
in  love  with  a  maiden  and  wishing  to  make 
her  his  squaw,  at  night  stands  alone  near 
her  tepee  and  plays  on  a  musical  instrument. 
If  his  love  is  reciprocated,  the  maiden  comes 
forth  and  silently  stands  in  front  of  her 
father's  tepee.  If  rejected,  there  is  no  sign 
of  life  around  the  place. 

They  attributed  the  distance  and  hiding  in 
the  brush  to  timidity  on  the  part  of  the  young 
pale-face.  He  was  lodged  in  a  tepee  with  the 
Chief.  In  the  morning,  he  again  tried  to 
explain,  but  preparations  for  the  celebration 
went  on.  Two  days  had  passed  when  four 
cowboys  rode  into  the  freighting  station. 
The  widow  and  daughter  were  almost  beside 
themselves  with  grief  and  fear,  as  they  told 
the  story  of  the  disappearance.  The  empty 
box  was  there,  but  no  one  knew  what  it  had 
contained. 

The  cowboys  knew  an  Indian  camp  was 


88  Sketches  of  Butte 

not  far  away.  They  examined  the  ground 
around  the  buildings,  but  wind  had  blown 
dust  over  all  signs  of  footprints.  One  of  the 
"cowpunchers"  wandered  along  the  trail 
until  he  came  to  a  sheltered  spot,  and  there 
found  footprints  leading  in  the  direction  of 
the  camp.  He  knew  the  prints  were  those 
of  a  white  man,  for  they  were  not  pigeon- 
toed  as  all  Indian's  are. 

He  quickly  returned  to  the  station  and  soon 
four  horsemen  were  off  and  riding  at  good 
speed  in  the  direction  in  which  the  Indian 
camp  lay.  When  they  reached  the  place,  the 
Indians  showed  a  defiant  spirit  and  it  was 
difficult  to  appease  them.  The  chief  argued 
that  it  was  either  a  proposal  of  marriage  or 
an  attempt  to  lure  the  maiden  from  her 
people,  but  after  much  talk,  both  pleasant 
and  threatening,  the  cowboys  rode  out  of  the 
camp  with  the  young  man  sitting  behind  one 
of  the  laughing  boys.  As  they  left  the  place 
they  heard  a  threatening  grunt,  a  guttural 
sound  peculiar  to  the  Indian. 

In  face  of  all  the  pleasantry,  the  rescued 
man  felt  very  kindly  towards  his  deliverers, 
and  they  were  overjoyed  to  see  the  musical 
instrument,   and  to  know  he   played  it,  and 


Some  Interesting  Characters  89 

they  made  that  another  excuse  to  visit  the 
freighting  station.  "We  can  take  turns 
dancing  with  the  girl,"  said  one,  as  they  rode 
away;  and  soon  his  one-room  building  became 
a  rendezvous  for  "freighters"  and  "cow- 
]3unchers."  "I  believe  I'll  make  some  money 
out  of  these  fellows,"  he  mused,  as  he 
watched  about  half  a  dozen  chapare jo-be- 
decked "cowpunchers"  dismount  and  run  the 
lariat  through  rings  they  had  fastened  in  the 
side  of  his  building,  for  there  were  no  trees 
in  the  neighborhood,  "then  marry  the  girl 
and  leave  the  countr^\  I'll  send  to  Ogden 
and  get  a  keg  of  whiskey,  and  peddle  it  to 
them  at  so  much  'per.'  "  Each  night  since 
his  rescue  he  had  played  for  them  to  dance, 
and  it  robbed  him  of  the  hours  he  might 
otherwise  have  spent  with  the  young  woman. 
About  a  month  later,  while  two  cowboys 
stood  in  his  doorway,  two  "freighters"  lifted 
from  a  freight-wagon  a  large  size  keg  and 
a  small  box,  and  one  said,  as  he  placed  the 
box  on  top  of  the  keg,  "Guess  that  be  a 
faucet  for  the  cider,"  and  with  a  smile  winked 
at  the  onlookers.  After  the  train  had  passed 
on,  "Southern  Jack"  quizzed  the  young  man 
as  to  the  meaning  of  the  whiskey  being  left 


90  Sketches  of  Butte 

there,  and  after  much  persistence  forced  an 
explanation.  "It  will  be  a  good  time  to 
advertise,"  he  thought,  as  he  asked  them  to 
help  him  roll  the  keg  in  and  tap  it.  "I'll  give 
them  a  glass  or  two  and  then  tell  them  my 
intentions."  After  he  had  explained  to  them 
and  they  had  taken  a  few  drinks,  Jack  said 
with  much  spirit,  "We'll  have  a  regler  party 
the  openin'  night."  "Have  the  wimmen  bake 
up  everything,"  said  the  other,  "an'  make  the 
date  as  near  pay-day  as  possible."  When 
details  had  been  arranged  and  the  two 
"punchers"  mounted  their  horses  and  started 
off,  "Southern  Jack"  called  back,  "We  all 
will  be  thar,"  and  sure  enough,  during  the 
afternoon  of  the  opening  day  in  all  direc- 
tions over  the  range  could  be  seen  little  coils 
of  dust  rising  from  trails.  It  was  made  by 
the  hoofs  of  horses  hurrying  along  carrying 
guests  to  the  dance.  Those  who  had  reached 
there  early  had  arranged  a  stage  for  the 
orchestra  and  bar,  by  placing  two  dry-goods 
boxes  close  together,  and  when  the  hour  came 
for  the  festivities  to  begin,  the  young  man 
with  the  concertina  on  his  lap  sat  on  one 
box  and  the  keg  of  whiskey  on  the  other. 
Mother    and    daughter    both    joined    in    the 


Some  Interesting  Characters  91 

dancing,  and  all  went  well  for  several  hours. 
Between  dances  the  guests  would  help  them- 
selves to  liquid  refreshments  and  then  drop 
a  silver  piece  in  a  tin  cup  that  stood  close  by. 
About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  trouble 
began,  and  the  jingling  of  spurs  that  kept 
time  with  the  concertina  became  louder  and 
faster  and  then  a  few  shots  were  fired  through 
the  ceiling;  then  a  jealous  fight  over  the 
daughter,  then  the  mother,  and  then  more 
drinks,  and  some  became  drowsy,  while  others 
seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  shooting  through 
walls  and  ceiling.  The  mother  and  daughter 
escaped  and  went  to  their  building.  The 
young  man,  with  trembling  hands  and  feet, 
played  on,  but  the  music  was  fast  and  dis- 
connected. 

At  last  quiet  came,  and  at  the  break-o'-day 
he  silently  rolled  the  keg  to  the  door  and 
turned  on  the  faucet,  and  what  was  left  of 
the  whiskey  flowed  to  the  ground  below.  As 
he  went  back  to  his  room  his  eyes  rested  on 
sleeping  "cowpunchers"  in  the  corners  and 
all  about  the  floor.  It  was  his  first  and  last 
night  as  a  bartender. 

The  first  mail  leaving  the  place  carried 
his  resignation,  and  he  journeyed  on  to  Butte, 


92  Sketches  of  Butte 

where  he  still  lives  and  enjoys  the  friends  of 
frontier  daj^s. 

One  of  Butte's  mining  men,  a  prominent 
and  picturesque  character  around  the  city, 
confided  in  me  and  told  me  the  secret  of  his 
good  health  and  how  he  guarded  against 
pnemnonia.  "From  the  time  of  the  first 
frost  in  the  fall,"  he  said,  "I  never  bathe  until 
after  the  last  frost  of  Spring.  The  oil,"  he 
said,  "from  the  body  forms  a  coating  and  is 
like  an  extra  skin  and  helps  to  keep  out  the 
chill."  While  listening  to  him  I  said  to  my- 
self, "What  a  joy  this  story  would  be  to  the 
small  boy."  The  first  frost  usually  is  in  Sep- 
tember, and  the  last  in  June.  It  would  give 
the  small  boy  ten  months  of  happiness. 

A  young  woman  who  had  experienced 
many  of  the  trials  of  life  married  one  of 
Butte's  wealthiest  young  men,  and  began 
housekeeping  in  what  is  thought  to  be  the 
finest  residence  in  the  city.  She  was  happy 
— oh,  so  happy,  and  proud  of  her  home. 
Among  the  wedding  presents  was  a  splendid 
copy  of  a  Rembrandt.  Visitors  would  come 
to  pay  a  call  and  most  all  gave  expression 
of  their  admiration  of  the  picture.  "What 
a  beautiful  Rembrandt,"  some  would  say,  or. 


Some  Interesting  Characters  93 

"Isn't  that  splendid."  And  the  young  ma- 
tron would  reply  in  her  pleasing  manner, 
"Yes,  it  is  pretty,"  or,  "I  love  it."  It  seemed 
to  get  on  her  nerves,  but  she  did  not  say 
anything  about  it  until  one  day  an  intimate 
girl  friend,  whose  nickname  was  "Mike," 
called  on  her,  and  in  her  effervescent  manner 
exclaimed,  "Oh!  What  a  stunning  Rem- 
brandt!" The  young  matron  stepped  back, 
and  placing  a  hand  on  each  hip,  said,  "  'Mike,' 
who  in  hell  is  Rembrandt?" 

A  few  years  ago  two  prominent  men,  both 
prominent  politicians,  got  mixed  up  in  an 
amusing  social  affair  that  afterwards  led  them 
into  the  divorce  court.  They  were  an  Irish- 
man and  a  Jew.  Just  for  convenience  we 
will  call  the  Jew  "Mose"  and  the  Irishman, 
"Dan."  They  were  both  named  as  co-re- 
spondents and  many  people  felt  that  the 
Irishman  was  guilty  and  the  Jew  innocent, 
but  in  his  nervousness  lie  convicted  himself. 
It  was  a  case  of  two  married  women  of  another 
city  and  one  of  the  husbands  was  the  plaintiff. 

It  was  Dan  wlio  introduced  Mose  to  the 
women.  He  was  bright,  but  unscrupulous, 
and  planned  to  use  the  Jew;  and  on  the 
other  hand  the  Jew  was  loyal  and  in  trying 


94  Sketches  of  Butte 

to  protect  the  Irishman  surrounded  himself 
with  circumstantial  evidence  which  convicted 
him,  and  in  his  honesty  convicted  Dan.  He 
was  unaccustomed  to  court  proceedings  and 
did  not  understand,  and  how  often  that  is 
the  case  where  a  witness  is  honest  and  wishes 
to  explain. 

I  was  in  court  and  witnessed  the  proceed- 
ings. They  were  both  called  by  the  plaintiff. 
Dan  had  been  on  the  stand  and  the  attorneys 
for  the  plaintiff  got  very  little  from  him  that 
was  material.  Mose  was  nervous  and  turned 
deathly  pale  as  the  attorney  for  the  plaintiff 
said,  "Will  Mr.  Dinklvich  please  take  the 
stand?" 

The  witness  did  not  leave  his  seat,  and  the 
attorney  spoke  to  him  again:  "Will  the  wit- 
ness please  take  the  stand?" 

He  looked  frightened  as  he  answered,  "I 
can't  do  it,  I  can't  stand  up." 

A  wave  of  amusement  passed  over  the 
room  as  the  Judge  said,  "Will  the  bailiff 
please  assist  the  witness  to  the  chair?" 

He  was  tired  and  excitable  after  the  long 
direct  examination.  Up  to  this  time  he  had 
been  a  poor  witness  for  the  plaintiff,  for  his 
cross-examination  will  show  how  he  had  been 


Some  Interesting  Characters  95 

approached  by  the  attorney  for  the  wife,  a 
procedure  undignified  but  not  uncommon. 
The  attorney  for  the  defendant  began,  as 
he  watched  the  man  closely,  "jNIr.  Dinkl- 
vich — "  but  he  got  no  further.  The  witness 
became  very  much  excited;  he  raised  his 
right  hand  out  towards  the  attorney  and  the 
left  towards  the  Judge  and  began  to  speak 
in  an  almost  incoherent  manner.  "Dan 
Kavin  got  me  into  dese  troubles,"  he  said, 
"an'   I  got  ze  voist  of  it." 

There  was  much  sympathy  for  the  fellow, 
for  there  had  been  much  sparring  between 
the  attorneys  and  he  was  confused  as  well  as 
very  tired. 

"The  witness  will  please  answer  the  ques- 
tions, 'yes'  or  'no,'  and  refrain  from  com- 
ment," said  the  attorney. 

"I  know  vot  to  say,  INIr.  Skviggs,"  he  con- 
tinued; "you  tole  me  vot  to  say  an'  I  can  say 
it  if  you  do  not  got  me  rattled.  I  haf  been 
in  ze  court-room  efery  day  since  ze  case  be- 
gan an'  I  haf  noticed  ze  vitnesses  got  rat- 
tled—" 

"Please  just  answer  my  questions — yes  or 
no,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"I  know  vot  to  say,  Mr.  Skviggs;  but  if 


96  Sketches  of  Butte 

ze  Judge  overrule  an'  sustain  me  I  vill  got 
rattled  an'  lie  like  Dan  Kavin  did." 

The  court-room  rang  loud  with  sounds  of 
the  gavel  as  the  onlookers  became  boisterous. 
Mr.  Squig  looked  around  in  despair  while  the 
witness  insisted  upon  talking.  The  Judge 
again  admonished  the  onlookers. 

"If  quiet  is  not  maintained,"  he  said,  "I 
shall  ask  the  bailiff  to  clear  the  court-room 
and  the  proceedings  will  be  continued  behind 
closed  doors.  I  would  suggest  that  as  the 
witness  is  unduly  nervous  he  be  let  to  pro- 
ceed in  his  own  way  and  tell  of  his  doings 
at  the  Van  Lennop  home." 

"That  is  vot  I  vont  to  do,"  said  the  ex- 
cited man,  turning  to  the  Judge,  "an'  I  vont 
to  remember  vot  JMr.  Skviggs  tole  me  vot 
to  say,  but  if  I  am  overruled  and  sustained 
I  vilf  forgot." 

As  he  spoke  he  nervously  glanced  to  where 
the  plaintiff  sat,  for  the  practical  joker  had 
told  him  Mr.  Van  Lennop  was  armed  and 
would  shoot  at  the  least  provocation. 

"Ven  Dan  Kavin  and  me  go  up  to  ze 
Van  Lennop  house,"  he  continued,  "Dan  he 
say  to  me  before  ve  start,  'Now,  Mose,  ven 
ve  got  up  to  ze  house  Maggie  is  your  goil,' 


Some  Interesting  Characters  97 

an'  ven  I  see  her  I  knows  I  got  ze  voist  of 
it.  Ven  de  music  vos  started  in  ze  parlor 
Maggie  she  say  to  me,  'JNIr.  Dinklvicli,  ve 
take  a  valk  in  ze  garden,'  an'  ven  ve  got  dare 
she  say,  'jNIr.  Dinklvich,  ve  sit  here  in  ze 
bright  moonhght.'  Ven  ve  comes  back  an' 
Dan  Kavin  vos  singing  'Silver  Threads  mit 
derr  Golt.'  An'  ven  he  got  through  Mrs. 
Van  Lennops  she  took  him  too  mit  ze  garden. 
Ven  ve  vere  alone  INIaggie  she  got  ze  family 
albums." 

The  attorney  vigorously  protested,  "I  wish 
to  excuse  the  witness,"  he  said  in  a  voice 
trembling  with  disgust.  "This  sort  of  busi- 
ness is  all  out  of  order."  The  Judge  paid 
no  attention  to  him  but  turned  to  the  witness 
and  quietly  said,  "The  witness  may  proceed." 

"I  forgot  me  vot  I  vos  saying." 

"You  were  just  starting  to  tell  us  about 
the  family  album,"  said  the  Judge. 

"Oh,  yes;  veil,  Maggie  she  got  ze  family 
albums  an'  she  opens  it  an'  she  say,  'Mr. 
Dinklvich,  zis  eis  little  Timmy,  my  youngist 
brudder.  an'  zis  eis  Jackie.'  An'  you  aut  haf 
seen  it.  An'  zen  she  say,  'Zis  is  me  ven  I  vus 
sixteen.'  An'  I  say,  'It  haf  keep  vel.'  An' 
she  shut  ze  album  an'  lay  it  on  ze  table  an' 


98  Sketches  of  Butte 

move  her  chair  close  to  me  an'  take  me  mine 
hand  in  hers  an'  look  up  mit  mine  eyes  an' 
say,  'iMose,'  an'  I  look  at  her  an'  I  vanted  to, 
oh,  how  I  vanted  to,  but  I  couldn't  do  it.  I 
shut  me  mine  eyes  an'  say  to  me,  'Mose,  be 
a  good  sport.'  " 

There  was  a  hush  in  the  court-room.  The 
audience  leaned  forward  in  their  seats,  full 
of  expectancy. 

"Ven  I  opens  me  mine  eyes  she  vos  just  ze 
same.  I  say,  'Maggie,  rest  back  in  ze  chair,' 
an'  she  did,  an'  I  put  me  a  pillow  under  her 
head  an'  close  me  mine  eyes  an'  sing  so  fine 
as  I  could  a  Yiddish  love  song,  an'  ven  I 
finish  me  mine  song  I  opens  mine  eyes  an' 
Maggie  vos  sound  asleep.  She  fall  asleep 
ven  she  hear  mine  soft  notes  full  off  tears — " 

"Your  honor,  I  again  ask  to  excuse  the 
witness,"  said  the  attorney  appealingly.  The 
Judge  gave  the  attorney  a  look  of  disgust  as 
he  said,  "The  witness  may  continue  his  story." 

"Mine  foder  send  me  oud  to  see  more  of  ze 
voild  an'  I  see  too  much.  Ve  all  got  drunk  an' 
vere  up  all  night  an'  I  vos  hungry  an' — " 

"I  think,"  said  the  Judge,  "we  can  see  to 
what  extent  the  witness  was  coached.  I  will 
excuse  him." 


Some  Interesting  Characters  99 

"Just  one  moment,"  suggested  the  plain- 
tiff's attorney,  "I  wish  to  ask  the  witness  one 
question.  ]SIr.  Dinklvich,  are  you  telling  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth?" 

"Yes,"  he  honestly  answered. 

"You  know  the  seriousness  of  the  oath,  do 
vou  not?" 

"Yes ;  I  know  vot  it  means  an'  I  am  honest. 
Ze  greatest  compliment  a  person  can  gif  me 
is  to  say  I  am  a  vite  Jew." 

"That  is  all,"  said  the  attorney  with  much 
satisfaction.  It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  how 
the  case  was  decided. 

I  haA'e  seen  attorneys  go  so  far  in  arguing 
a  case  to  the  jury  as  to  hold  a  twenty-dollar 
gold  piece  in  the  palm  of  their  hand.  It 
meant  this  and  more  to  follow. 

In  early  days,  during  exceedingly  trying 
times,  a  deacon  of  the  Mountain  View  Meth- 
odist Church  was  sheriff. 

I  knew  a  society  woman  who,  when  going 
out  and  anxious  to  get  a  message  to  her 
husband  as  soon  as  he  returned  home,  would 
tie  a  note  to  the  neck  of  the  whiskey  bottle 
before  leaving  the  house. 

A  society  matron  who  was  very  fond  of 


100  Sketches  of  Butte 

the  races  and  who  never  missed  an  oppor- 
tunity to  attend  always  held  a  rosary  in  her 
hand  while  placing  a  bet  or  talking  with  a 
"tout." 


Chapter  Ele\t:n 
AT    THE    OLD    COUNTRY    CLUB 

The  porch  of  tlie  Country  Club  that  stood 
on  the  "Flat"  near  the  four  cemeteries,  a 
daughter-house  and  brick-yard,  was  bril- 
liantly lighted  with  Chinese  lanterns.  Here 
and  there  a  "cozy  nook"  protected  by  fresh 
green  pines  brought  from  the  mountains, 
gave   seclusion  to   "timid   sparks." 

A  warm  grate  fire  in  a  measure  relieved 
the  cold,  cheerless  effect  of  the  dance  hall. 
The  unplaned  rafters,  high  ceilings  and 
weather-board  sides,  made  the  place  a  barren, 
unattractive  looking  room.  In  a  bay  window 
an  orchestra  was  stationed.  The  handsome, 
but  over-decorated,  table  placed  in  this  wooden 
Sahara  was  like  an  oasis  in  a  desert.  Its 
wonderful  pile  of  bloom  lacked  refinement 
and  the  artistic  touch  of  culture.  The  host 
had  pin-posely  over-embellished,  for  he  wished 
to  dazzle  some  whom  he  had  invited,  and  in 
that  way  study  their  mental  strength  and  see 

101 


102  Sketches  of  Butte 

in  what  capacity  they  might  be  used.  The 
waiters  had  been  instructed  to  keep  the 
glasses  well  filled,  and  had  carefully  followed 
instructions. 

Our  host  met  us  at  the  door  as  we  entered. 
Formality  had  been  laid  aside  for  this  night, 
as  many  of  those  bidden  would  not  under- 
stand. The  dinner  guests  had  arrived  and 
were  soon  seated  at  the  table,  and  when 
the  time  came  for  the  dance  guests  to  arrive, 
all  at  the  table  were  in  a  jovial  spirit. 

A  carriage  drove  up  to  the  entrance  and 
soon  two  men  entered  the  hall,  one  a  stranger 
from  Boston.  As  the  door  closed  behind 
them,  a  young  doctor  who  had  imbibed  too 
freely,  rose  from  his  chair  and  soon  a  ripe 
tomato,  with  a  little  dressing  on  the  side, 
landed  on  the  Bostonian's  right  eye.  He 
gracefully  acknowledged  the  unusual  salu- 
tation and  passed  on  to  a  room  where  men 
removed  their  wraps. 

This  seemed  a  signal  for  a  "rough  house." 
The  dinner  guests  left  the  table  and  gathered 
in  small  groups  here  and  there  where  they 
might  have  a  liquor  and  cigarette  and  be  un- 
disturbed by  the  noisy  throng  that  began  to 
invade  the  hall. 


At  the  Old  Country  Club  103 

Some  retired  to  the  outer  balcony,  for  the 
moonht  night  was  bahiiy  for  an  autumn  night 
in  the  mountains. 

In  the  room  where  the  Bostonian  went  to 
leave  his  top  coat  and  hat  was  an  improvised 
bar.  Three  of  the  men  who  had  been  dinner 
guests  were  stationed  at  this  place,  while 
three  others  formed  themselves  into  a  com- 
mittee to  escort  every  newcomer  to  the  bar, 
and  when  there  he  was  compelled  to  drink 
five  cocktails.  When  an  obstreperous  guest 
was  encountered,  a  member  of  the  committee 
would  state  to  him,  "It's  to  even  up  the 
party.  We  have  been  at  it  for  two  hours. 
Come — be  a  sport  and  take  your  medicine 
like  a  man." 

They  knew  the  consequence  of  a  refusal. 
The  scheme  had  the  desired  effect,  and  soon 
the  hall  was  filled  with  merry  dancers,  and 
the  music  changed  from  the  classic  strains 
of  the  seductive  waltz  and  two-step  to  a  gay 
"rag-time." 

"I  can  feel  the  vibration  of  the  building," 
my  companion  laughed  heartily. 

"Yes;  it  is  like  a  swaying  mob,  isn't  it?" 
I  answered,  and  then  suggested  we  go  to  the 
gallery  where  we  might  sit  and  look  on. 


104  Sketches  of  Butte 

We  climbed  the  rickety  steps  that  led  to 
the  balcony  and  took  seatSi  near  a  suspiciously 
frail-looking  rail. 

The  butcher,  the  baker  and  the  candle- 
stick maker  were  all  there  on  the  floor  below. 
They  were  lined  up  for  inspection,  and  in 
most  cases  there  was  not  an  exchange  of 
mentality,  or  harmony  of  souls.  There  were 
some  strong  characters  lined  up,  but  treach- 
erous, for  they  would  not  stay  bought. 

"How  interesting  to  look  on,"  she  said, 
as  she  moved  close  to  the  rail. 

"Such  manner  of  entertaining  is  not  very 
elevating,"  I  said,  "but  is  common  here.  It's 
just  a  little  flattery  for  the  poor  'boobs,'  and 
they  fall  for  it,  and  in  that  fall  will  go  the 
limit." 

"It  does  seem  strange  that  in  this  day  and 
age  a  person  has  a  price  for  his  manhood," 
was  her  only  answer  as  she  quietly  looked  on. 

"And  some  sell  mighty  cheap  and  seem 
to  like  being  'crooks.'  It  sort  of  gives  them 
standing  to  be  associated  with  the  wealthy 
criminals." 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  watched 
her  interested  expression  as  she  watched  the 
throng  of  dancers. 


&  i 


A  BUCKING  PINTO 


At  the  Old  Country  Club  105 

"I  have  always  wanted  to  look  on  at  a 
cowboy  dance,"  she  said,  without  taking  her 
eyes  from  the  floor  below\  "Have  you  ever 
attended  one?" 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "I  remember  a  rather  lively 
one  up  in  the  Big  Hole  countiy." 

"Tell  me  about  it.  It  must  have  been  in- 
teresting." She  was  all  attention  as  she 
moved  back  and  closer  to  me.  "Do  they 
really  shoot  up  everything?"  I  merely 
smiled  as   I   launched  into  the   story. 

"A  'tenderfoot'  friend  of  mine  who  had 
been  in  the  camp  for  several  weeks  wanted 
to  go  for  a  long  horseback  journey.  I 
planned  a  trip  for  him  up  through  the  Big 
Hole  to  the  old  battlefield  and  back  through 
the  Wise  river  country.  We  went  by  train 
to  Divide  and  there  took  saddle  horses.  I 
had  wired  for  horses,  and  when  we  reached 
our  rail  destination  and  went  to  the  stable 
we  found  two  horses  already  saddled  and 
waiting:  one  a  handsome  large  sorrel,  the 
other  a  little  dark  brown   'cayuse.'  " 

"Tell  me,"  she  interrupted,  "what  is  the 
definition  of  'cayuse'?" 

"Just  a  name  for  an  Indian  pony,"  I  an- 
swered. 


106  Sketches  of  Butte 

"I  wondered.  I  have  heard  so  many  Butte 
people  called  that." 

"That's  because  they  are  wild  and  un- 
broke,"  I  smiled,  as  I  continued  the  story. 
"My  friend,  for  the  first  time,  showed  selfish- 
ness by  stepping  forward  and  starting  to 
mount  the  fine-looking  animal.  I  stood  and 
watched  him  ride  out  of  the  corral,  and  then 
turned  to  where  stood  my  little  horse,  blear- 
eyed  and  sleepy-looking,  with  head  hanging 
down  towards  his  knees.  I  knew  the  speci- 
men and  was  satisfied.  The  big  range  saddle 
almost  covered  his  back. 

"We  started  out,  crossed  the  river  and 
followed  the  left  bank.  My  little  horse,  all 
skin  and  bones,  moved  on  with  gait  like  the 
rocking  of  a  cradle,  picking  his  way  over 
rocks  and  rough  roads.  Far  in  the  distance 
we  could  see  the  glistening  snowcaps  of  Goat 
Mountains,  that  rise  above  one  of  the  Indian 
battlefields  of  early  days. 

"AVe  had  gone  but  a  few  miles  when  I 
noticed  my  friend  now  and  then  slide  over 
to  one  side  of  the  saddle,  while  his  fine-looking 
horse  came  down  with  a  heavy  thud. 

"Our  first  stop  was  at  Dewey's  Flats,  a 
little  town  with  one  street,  lined  on   either 


At  the  Old  Countnj  Club  107 

side  by  log  cabins;  a  truly  frontier  town. 
No  sidewalks;  everybody  walked  in  the  mid- 
die  of  the  road. 

"We  reached  the  little  tavern  just  before 
the  noon  hour.  In  the  dining-room  a  pretty 
half-breed  girl  waited  on  the  table.  Her 
straight,  black  hair  hung  in  two  strands 
over  her  shoulders  in  trulj^  Indian  fashion, 
for  they  were  in  front  and  fell  about  to  her 
knees.  She  was  a  handsome  girl  to  look  at. 
Her  soft,  brown-red  complexion  and  large, 
dreamy  black  ej^es  made  a  wonderful  picture. 

"I  paid  no  attention  to  her,  merely  giving 
my  order.  IMy  friend  at  once  started  to 
'josh'  her  and  that  is  where  he  lost  out,  for 
the  Indian  has  much  dignity. 

"There  was  to  be  a  show  in  town  that 
night,  so  we  stayed  over.  For  about  a  week 
or  ten  days  word  had  been  passed  through 
the  country  telling  of  the  event  to  come. 
Chairs  and  tables  in  a  saloon  and  gambling 
house  had  been  removed  so  as  to  give  room 
for  the  performance  and  dance  that  was  to 
follow.  The  show  people  carried  with  them 
an  orchestra  consisting  of  one  violinist — and 
that  was  the  incentive  for  the  dance. 

"About  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  I  sat 


108  Sketches  of  Butte 

down  to  an  old  foot-pedal  organ  that  stood 
in  a  corner  of  a  little  sitting-room. 

"Soon  the  young  waitress  came  from  the 
kitchen  and,  without  speaking,  moved  a  chair 
close  to  the  end  of  the  organ  and  sat  quietly 
listening  to  me  play  Moody  and  Sankey 
hvmns,  for  that  was  the  extent  of  music  they 
possessed.  My  friend  again  tried  to  flirt 
with  her. 

"  'You're  going  to  the  dance  with  me 
tonight,  aren't  you?'  he  said  in  a  flippant 
manner. 

"She  did  not  look  towards  him,  but  with 
a  guttural  sound,  characteristic  to  the  Indian 
before  speaking,  said,  'No,  I  go  with  him,' 
pointing  her  hand  towards  me.  I  was  game; 
stopped  pumping  the  old  machine,  turned  to 
her  and  said,  'Yes,  and  we'll  go  to  the  show 
first,  won't  we?' 

"Not  a  smile  passed  her  lips  as  she  an- 
swered, 'Yes,  we  go  to  the  show.' 

"I  took  her  to  the  show  and  we  all  stayed 
for  the  dance.  Chaparejo  bedecked  'cow- 
punchers,'  with  high-heel  boots  and  rattling 
spurs,  were  there.  Prospectors  and  ranchers 
with  their  wives  and  sweethearts  came  from 
miles  around  to  attend  the  affair.     My  girl 


At  the  Old  Country  Club  109 

danced  with  all  the  rh^i-hm  of  the  Indian, 
spoiling  it  now  and  then  by  a  long  drawn 
out  pivot,  merely  to  show  the  pale  face  she 
understood  their  ways. 

"All  went  well  until  about  midnight  and 
then  trouble  seemed  to  be  in  the  air,  for  her 
sweetlieart — a  'cowpuncher'  from  up  near 
Wisdom — arrived  upon  the  scene  and  at  once 
became  mean.  As  whiskey  became  more 
plentiful,  threats  of  bodily  injury  were  often 
made  to  me  as  he  took  more  drinks. 

"I  knew  enough  not  to  try  and  explain 
matters,  for  in  that  state  there  was  no  rea- 


sonmg. 


"As  the  jealous  lover  became  well  intoxi- 
cated, he  leaned  against  the  bar,  one  foot 
resting  on  the  brass  railing,  and  in  a  loud 
voice  began  to  upbraid  the  girl,  emphasizing 
his  remarks  now  and  then  by  a  shot  through 
the  ceiling  or  floor.  He  ground  his  teeth 
as  he  became  more  unsteady  and  wild-eyed 
with  anger. 

"Seemingly  paying  no  attention  to  him,  I 
invited  all  to  have  a  drink.  There  was  a  rush 
to  the  bar.  The  excited  lover  turned  and 
faced  a  whiskey  bottle,  and  while  he  was 
pouring  out  a  generous  drink  I  quietly  passed 


110  Sketches  of  Butte 

around  to  where  he  stood  and  in  a  rather 
flippant  manner  said,  'Pard,  why  don't  you 
sometime  come  over  to  Butte  and  make  us 
a  visit?  It  had  the  desired  effect,  for  he 
poured  another  drink. 

"There  is  always  a  chance  of  a  bad  shoot- 
ing when  a  fellow  drinks  too  much." 

"Tell  me  about  the  rest  of  the  trip,"  she 
said,  in  much  interest.     "It  is  all  new  to  me." 

"There  was  nothing  of  particular  interest 
until  the  day  and  night  before  we  returned 
to  Dewey  on  our  way  back  to  Butte.  I  wanted 
to  show  my  friend  the  Vipond  country.  We 
turned  up  the  road  leading  along  Wise 
river.  At  dusk  we  left  the  road  to  follow 
a  trail  that  led  through  a  stretch  of  timber. 
Night  had  just  closed  in  when  we  reached 
a  spot  where  there  had  been  a  forest  fire; 
burned  trees  had  fallen  and  obliterated  the 
trail,  and  soon  I  realized  we  were  lost.  The 
moon  came  up  and  we  kept  on  going,  now 
and  then  the  horses  stepping  over  a  fallen 
tree.  In  the  moonlight  each  stump  looked 
like  an  Indian  or  bear,  but  we  drove  ahead, 
now  and  then  reining  in  when  one  of  the 
horses  would  snort  as  if  scenting  danger. 

"Just  after  the  break-o'-day  we  ran  across 


At  the  Old  Country  Club  111 

a  dreadfully  unkempt-looking  man  lying  fast 
asleep  beside  a  large  log.  When  we  roused 
him  I  recognized  the  man  known  throughout 
that  section  as  the  'Wild  Man.'  Wherever 
night  overtook  him  he  lay  down  to  sleep. 
Prospectors  and  hunters  would  give  him 
ammunition,  and  when  he  shot  a  deer  or  elk, 
he  would  camp  there  until  he  had  devoured 
it  all.  A  place  he  called  home  was  in  the 
woods  near  a  small  cave.  A  few  poles  lean- 
ing up  against  a  tree  constituted  his  summer 
home,  and  the  cave  was  where  he  spent  much 
time  in  the  winter.  His  long,  unkempt  hair 
was  in  thirteen  strands,  braided  as  it  grew 
longer,  and  most  everything  under  the  sun 
braided  in  it,  giving  him  a  mighty  wild 
appearance. 

"He  directed  us  to  the  trail  leading  to 
Vipond  Park.  We  found  we  had  been 
wandering  around  diu'ing  the  long  night  in 
a  radius  of  about  a  mile. 

"At  one  place  on  the  trail  we  looked 
through  a  hiatus  in  the  mountains  and  in  the 
distance  of  about  seventy  miles  saw  Butte 
on  the  barren  mountain  side.  The  atmos- 
phere was  so  clear  we  could  almost  distin- 
guish the  different  mines. 


112  Sketches  of  Butte 

"It  was  a  pretty  ride  from  Vipond  back  to 
Dewey's.  As  we  turned  in  on  the  one  road 
leading  through  town,  we  passed  a  wagon 
just  leaving.  On  the  high  seat  of  the  dead-ax 
wagon  I  recognized  my  little  half-breed  and 
her  sweetheart.  As  we  passed  they  both 
looked  straight  ahead,  with  no  sign  of  recog- 
nition. When  we  reached  the  little  hotel  the 
landlady  told  us  the  fellow  refused  to  leave 
until  the  girl  married  him." 

"Watch  them  now,"  the  listener  inter- 
rupted. 

The  music  had  stopped.  Some  of  the 
dancers  flocked  to  the  punch-bowl;  others  to 
the  small  room  where  stronger  drinks  were 
served.  Women,  with  glass  of  wine  or  high- 
ball in  one  hand  and  cigarette  in  the  other, 
walked  with  their  partners  to  the  outer  gal- 
lery. Some  found  seats  in  cozy  nooks ;  others 
stood  blowing  loud  applause  through  the  hall. 

My  companion  was  much  interested  as  I 
pointed  out  the  professional  reformers,  lime- 
light seekers  and  those  of  other  professions. 

"This  all  sounds  and  looks  more  like  the 
Butte  I  have  read  about." 

"We  have  some  wonderfully  fine  lonesome 
people  in  Butte,"  I  suggested.     "Lonesome 


At  the  Old  Country  Club  113 

because  they  will  not  mingle.  They  have  not 
had  an  opportunity  to  meet  tlie  right  ones. 
They  are  invited  to  an  affair  like  this.  They 
look  on  and  then  decide  to  retire  to  a  quiet 
life  during  their  sojourn  in  the  camp." 

"You  do  not  paint  your  aristocracy  in  very 
glowing  colors,"  she  said,  with  a  twinkle  in 
the  eye. 

"It  is  a  queer  eonception  of  life  most  of 
them  have.  There  are  three  periods  of  aris- 
tocracy," I  answered,  not  taking  my  eyes 
from  the  floor  below.  "They  are  birth, 
wealth  and  worth.  We  have  long  since 
passed  through  the  first,  and  are  now  on  our 
way  through  the  second,  and  I  am  glad  to 
saj^  almost  at  the  end.  How  splendid  it  will 
be  when  we  enter  the  third, — the  aristocracy 
of  worth.  When  people  will  be  received  for 
what  they  are  and  what  they  have  done.  The 
leaven  is  working  fast  and  a  new  spirit  is 
rising." 

Dawn's  silver  light  was  putting  the  stars 
to  flight  as  we  left  the  barren  club  house. 
Some  were  still  dancing,  others  lounging  in 
"cozy  nooks,"  some  taking  carriages  for  road- 
houses  that  dot  the  "Flat,"  where  they  might 
have  more  dancing,  more  drinks  and  a  break- 


114  Sketches  of  Butte 

fast  before  returning  home,  while  many,  hke 
ourselves,  drove  out  of  thq  grounds  and  along 
a  road  that  led  up  the  mountain  side  to  the 
city. 

"Jack  seems  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  the 
young  lady  as  the  lash  fell  on  one  of  the 
horses. 

"Yes,"  I  laughed,  "but  he  will  be  too  late 
for  a  game  of  poker.  He  is  a  great  gambler 
and  often  stakes  his  all.  One  night  he  sat 
in  a  game  and  luck  was  against  him  until 
the  last  round  of  'Jack-pots.'  He  was 
'strapped'  when  he  filled  his  hand.  His 
watch  and  finger-ring  were  in  the  pot.  He 
had  drawn  a  good  hand  but  had  nothing  left 
to  bet.  At  last  he  said  as  he  took  out  his 
false-teeth,  'How  much  be  these  worth?'  It 
was  at  a  time  when  dentistry  was  crude  and 
gold  plates  were  made  heavy.  The  plate 
was  appraised  and  placed  in  the  pot  and  he 
win." 

'Why  do  you  say  'win'?"  she  asked. 
'It's  just   a   sporting  term,"   I   answered. 
"Won  might  cause  much  confusion  in  enum- 
erating at  a  horse  race  and  such  as  that." 


Chapter  Twelve 
CORRUPTING    FELLOW    MEN 

The  world  over  when  one  mentions  Butte, 
people  ask  why  Butte  has  such  an  unenvi- 
able reputation.  Fear  and  hypocrisy  are  the 
prime  reasons.  The  gardens  of  life  are  un- 
kept  by  those  who  ought  to  be  guardians  and 
the  weeds  of  corruption  smother  and  warp 
young  life.  A  scientist  at  one  time  said  he 
believed  the  peculiar  mental  condition  of  so 
many  in  Butte  was  due  in  a  way  to  the 
barrenness  of  the  place  and  radioactive  min- 
erals. He  said  a  person  living  in  direct  con- 
tact of  rays  from  the  mineral  would  soon 
feel  the  effect.  The  brain  becomes  metallic 
and  they  are  not  wholly  responsible. 

The  voyage  of  life  to  many  in  Butte  is 
tumultuous.  In  an  old  gallery  in  a  foreign 
land  there  hangs  a  set  of  pictures  that  depict 
the  voyage  of  life.  The  first  canvas  shows 
the  backgroimd,  laid  in,  in  the  impressionist. 
Some  might  imagine  it  to  be  a  cliff;  others 

115 


116  Sketches  of  Butte 

the  mouth  of  a  large  cave.  Floating  on  the 
waters  of  a  placid  stream  that  comes  from 
this  darkness  is  a  bark  filled  with  beautiful 
flowers.  Lying  in  the  center  of  the  mass 
of  bloom  is  a  young  babe.  On  the  prow, 
with  celestial  light  about  her,  stands  an  angel 
with  trumpet  in  one  hand,  heralding  to  the 
world  the  birth  of  the  child ;  in  the  other  hand 
she  holds  an  hour-glass,  the  upper  globe  filled 
with  sands  of  time. 

The  second  canvas  shows  everything  bright 
and  cheerful.  The  waters  of  the  stream 
glisten  in  the  sunshine.  On  the  banks  of 
the  stream  of  mirror-clear  waters  are  many 
3^oung  trees,  palms  and  brilliant  blossoms.  In 
the  bright  sky  above,  resting  on  silvery 
clouds,  is  a  wonderful  castle.  In  the  prow 
of  the  barge  stands  a  youth,  his  eyes  turned 
towards  the  castle  as  if  riveted  there.  The 
angel  has  left  the  bark  and  stands  on  the 
shore  waving  a  Godspeed  to  the  boy  who  is 
just  going  out  into  the  world.  The  hour- 
glass rests  on  the  prow  of  the  boat. 

The  third  canvas  shows  a  man  standing  in 
the  center  of  the  boat.  There  are  many  rocks 
in  the  stream  and  the  troubled  waters  are 
filled   with    cori-uption;    broken    branches    lie 


Corrupting  Fellow  Men     ,       117 

here  and  there  among  withered  palms.  The 
barge  rocks  and  phmges  as  it  moves  on 
towards  the  distant  rapids,  and  there  he  stands 
gazing  on  the  half-empty  hour-glass. 

The  fourth  canvas  shows  an  old  man  stand- 
ing in  the  bark  with  his  arms  reaching  out 
as  if  to  receive  some  one.  Ail  about  is  dark- 
ness; the  celestial  light  shines  on  his  up- 
turned brow.  In  the  heavens  the  clouds  are 
billowy  and  bright.  Many  angels  float 
through  space  beckoning  the  old  man  home. 
The  upper  globe  of  the  hour-glass  is  empt3^ 
He  had  finished  this  life  and  was  steering 
his  boat  ashore.  He  had  passed  through 
corruption  and  gone  over  the  rapids,  and 
again  his  eyes  turn  to  the  celestial  liglit. 

Managers  of  Butte  combines  feel  safe 
behind  the  subservient  press.  They  use  much 
gold  in  the  miscarriage  of  justice  and  cor- 
rupting their  fellow  man.  Pressure  is 
])rought  to  bear  on  weak  people  and  they 
fall,  and  in  that  fall  seem  to  lose  all  sense 
of  honor.  They  go  the  limit.  Some  place 
one  foot  in  state  prison,  while  others  stand 
with  tlie  noose  dangling  just  above  their 
heads.  The  real  criminal  sits  in  his  office, 
club  or  home  while  his   agents  deal  out   the 


118  Sketches  of  Butte 

corrupting  stuff,  and  hire  character  assassins 
to  ruin  the  standing  of  people  who  oppose 
him. 

Some  sell  themselves  to  high  bidders  merely 
to  be  used  as  dummies,  or  like  the  decoy  duck. 
For  the  price  they  have  sold  their  soul,  they 
stand  ready  to  be  set  up  and  knocked  down 
at  any  time,  or  accept  anything  the  occasion 
demands. 

They  remind  me  of  a  ram  with  a  bell  tied 
around  his  neck.  A  ram  that  was  kept  in  a 
sheep  corral  of  a  slaughter-house  at  the 
stockyards  in  Chicago.  He  was  there  to  lead 
his  unsuspecting  friends  to  their  death.  He 
would  circulate  around  amongst  the  hungry 
and  frightened  sheep  and  when  a  sufficient 
number  were  following  him  he  would  quietly 
walk  up  an  incline  run  that  led  to  a  closed 
door  of  the  slaughter-house.  When  his  fol- 
lowers crowded  around  him  the  door  would 
be  thrown  open  and  he  would  walk  in  and 
his  friends  follow.  When  the  death  room 
was  filled  with  his  wondering  friends,  the 
door  would  be  closed  behind,  shutting  off 
retreat.  He  would  then  walk  to  another 
closed    door,    where    stood    a   man    ready   to 


Corrupting  Fellow  31  en  119 

open  it  for  him.  It  opened  to  another  incline 
that  led  to  the  same  corral  where  he  repeated 
his  act  of  deception. 

Women  have  been  brought  into  the  camp 
for  the  pm-pose  of  corrupting  judges  and 
have  succeeded,  and  after  being  used  tossed 
aside  like  an  old  rag.  In  early  days  I  have 
seen  men  lined  up  in  a  row  receiving  money 
for  their  votes,  selling  their  manliood  for  a 
few  dollars.  I  have  known  women  in  Butte 
ready  to  sell  themselves  to  the  highest  bidder; 
women  who  belong  to  what  is  known  as  the 
fashionable  set. 

Some  of  Butte's  leaders  argue  that  indis- 
cretions may  be  overlooked  in  that  set.  If 
that  be  a  conventionality  of  that  set  how 
preferable  the  other  set  is,  those  who  may 
not  be  so  influential;  to  whom  fortune  and 
trickery  have  not  given  so  much  of  this  world's 
goods;  where  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
runs  through  the  veins;  where  hypocrisy  is 
little  known.  There  are  no  two  rules  with 
reference  to  propriety  in  the  conduct  of  true 
man  or  womanhood.  People  never  attain  a 
position  in  which  they  can  violate  the  things 
that  go  for  decency,  ignore  them  and  excuse 
it  because  of  self,  because  they  may  have  at- 


120  Sketches  of  Butte 

tained  what  they  think  is  a  more  exalted 
social  position. 

There  are  no  two  standards  of  morality: 
one  for  Butte  and  one  for  some  other  place. 
There  are  men  in  Butte  who  are  moral 
curses  to  the  world.  Men  who  wink  at  the 
robbery  of  people's  money  and  at  the  robber}^ 
of  little  children.  Men  who  haven't  the  well- 
opened  eyelid  or  untiring  gaze  of  the  honest 
man.  In  speaking  with  them,  there  is  no 
stamp  of  candor  in  the  voice.  They  drop 
the  eye  to  hide  the  duplicity.  They  sit  back 
like  cowards  and  have  others  do  the  criminal 
work,  sowing  seeds  in  youth  that  are  in  ma- 
turity harvested,  and  what  is  the  crop? 
Criminals — is  the  only  answer. 

Do  the  people  decry  this  state  of  affairs? 
No!  Most  of  them  applaud  and  say  they 
are  good  business  men,  and  the  professional 
howler  stands  around  the  streets  howling  for 
them:  men  who  are  paid  handsomely  for  tell- 
ing of  the  wealthy  criminal's  beautiful  traits 
of  character  and  his  many  charitable  acts  the 
public  are  not  cognizant  of.  Men  who  owe 
their  wealth  to  some  person's  ruin  never  see 
the  sunny  side  of  life;  their  nights  are  cold 
and    cheerless.      Their    slogan    is:    "If    you 


Cornqjthig  Fellow  3Ien  121 

haven't  anything  authentic,  frame  up  some- 
tliing."  They  never  experience  the  great 
needs  of  the  heart;  the  sympathy,  the  vibrat- 
ing harmony  of  souls,  and  without  a  generous 
thought  or  close  fellowship  their  lives  dry 
and  crumble  like  the  leaves  of  a  fading  year. 
One  night  during  recent  labor  troubles,  I 
went  down  on  the  "Flat"  where  I  could  look 
back  and  see  the  searchlights  in  action.  It 
was  beautifully  weird,  and  to  one  who  real- 
ized the  conditions  as  they  exist  in  Butte — 
a  fascinating  tragedy.  Night  shut  from  view 
the  ugliness  and  barrenness  of  the  city  on  the 
hill,  and  all  one  could  see  was  the  fantastic 
electrical  display — a  sight  for  the  romanticist. 
Searchlights  were  in  every  direction.  A  bril- 
liant glare,  like  the  tail  of  a  meteor  or 
shooting-star,  shone  from  what  seemed  to  be 
the  eyes  of  a  dragon.  One  from  the  brow 
of  the  mountain  would  slowlv  move  around 
like  the  winged  serpent  turning  its  head, 
crossing  perhaps  one  in  the  valley  or  on  a 
hill  or  dump.  Sometimes  the  incandescent 
rays  would  meet  and  remain  stationary. 
Then  I  saw  flashes  from  what  seemed  to  be 
immovable  lights,  like  the  blaze  of  Dante's 
cohmm.      They    were    signal    lights    sending 


122  Sketches  of  Butte 

their  message  of  hatred  and  class  war.  It 
was  a  sad,  beautiful  tragedy,  for  one  class 
of  human  beings  was  searching  for  those  of 
another  class. 


Chapter  Thirteen 
THE  CRIME  OF  BLACKMAIL 

In  a  mining  camp  where  hmidreds  have 
staked  their  all  on  a  chance  for  quick  wealth, 
where  life  itself  is  regarded  as  a  gamhle  and 
held  cheaply;  where  the  end  always  justifies 
the  means,  and  the  means  are  far  too  often 
worse  than  questionable, — as  a  natural  se- 
quence, following  closely  on  the  heels  of  the 
more  open  corruptionist  we  find  the  jackal 
of  crime,  the  blackmailer. 

In  Butte  the  victims  of  blackmail  are  num- 
bered in  the  hundreds,  and  the  proudest,  the 
mightiest  and  best  have  paid  their  unwilling 
tribute. 

Blackmail  is  not  only  a  heinous  offense, 
but  a  very  common  one,  few  cases  ever  com- 
ing  into  public  notice.  In  very  many  in- 
stances it  is  successful,  the  circumstances 
being  such  as  to  convince  the  victim  that 
"division  and  silence"  is  better  than  the  train 
of  evils  that  might  otherwise  follow.  Quite 
often  the  crime  is  so  shrewdly  planned  as  to 

123 


124  Sketches  of  Butte 

evade  detection,  in  which  case  it  seldom  finds 
its  waj'  to  pubhcity,  whether  the  victim  is  or 
is  not  disposed  to  settle  the  matter  with  the 
criminal.  In  the  nature  of  the  offense,  black- 
mail is  one  of  the  most  despicable  crimes  in 
the  roster  of  criminal  possibilities,  for  while 
it  partakes  of  the  nature  of  robbery  not  only 
of  money  and  property,  but  character,  it  may 
be  infinitely  worse  when  the  threat  is  carried 
into  effect.  JNIurder,  arson,  and  a  dozen  other 
crimes  may  be  woven  into  the  possible  results 
of  blackmail. 

A  man  may  hold  an  important  position 
where  he  learns  many  secrets  of  the  corpora- 
tion employing  him.  He  has  a  misunder- 
standing with  some  dfficial, — a  meeting  is 
held  and  he  is  voted  out.  He  may  get  into 
some  serious  trouble.  He  may  commit  mur- 
der, arson,  or  sedition.  All  he  has  to  do  is 
to  say  to  his  former  employers,  "You  protect 
me  in  my  crimes  or  I  will  expose  you  in 
yours,"  and  he  is  protected  while  the  flame 
of  hatred  burns  in  their  breasts. 

Another  fellow  persuades  some  weak  char- 
acter to  commit  perjury  for  him.  He  is 
asked  to  do  it  again,  but  demurs.  Threats 
of  prosecution  for  perjury  are  made  and  he 


The  Crime  of  Blackmail  125 

says,  "I  will  commit  perjury  for  you,  but 
you  must  come  through  with  some  money, 
or  else  I  will  see  that  you  are  prosecuted  for 
instigating  perjury" — and  he  comes  through. 
One  is  the  victim  of  the  other,  and  they  must 
smile  and  grasp  each  other  by  the  hand  while 
in  public,  for  the  world  must  not  know  they 
all  are  criminals. 

They  are  starving  mental  paupers.  Their 
lives  are  cramped  and  withered  for  food  of 
an  honest  thought.  A  man's  true  reward  in 
life  is  found  in  his  own  soul.  Some  never 
wear  the  honest  halo  of  good  deeds,  or  are 
embalmed  by  love  or  garlanded  by  affections 
of  fellow  man,  and  lonesome  they  travel 
through  life,  and  at  last  night  time  comes  on 
and  there  is  no  sound  from  the  dying  lips 
save  the  moan  of  blackened  manhood,  and 
when  his  body  is  lowered  into  the  grave 
people  turn  away  with  mingled   thoughts. 

The  fact  of  Butte's  being  so  thoroughly 
advertised  throughout  the  world  as  an  ex- 
travagantly wealthy  place,  where  people  are 
lavish  in  expenditure,  brings  adventurers  of 
all  descriptions.  Business  sharks  come  with 
the  adventuress,  and  others  come  solely  for 
the  purpose  of  blackmail. 


126  Sketches  of  Butte 

At  one  time,  a  middle-aged  woman,  with 
two  young  women  she  called  her  daughters, 
came  to  the  city  and  rented  a  furnished 
house.  The  young  women  were  good-looking 
and  vivacious,  and  soon  met  many  of  the 
men  about  town.  Not  long  thereafter,  whis- 
perings of  peculiar  doings  were  heard,  and 
it  was  said  a  prominent  politician  had  been 
held  up  for  eight  hundred  dollars.  One  eve- 
ning, I  met  a  prominent  doctor,  and  he  told 
me  of  his  experience  with  the  alleged  mother, 
and  how  he  had  settled  with  her  by  giving 
her  a  block  of  spurious  mining  stock. 

That  same  evening  the  alleged  mother 
went  to  a  hotel  where  a  young  man  lived, 
called  for  a  "bell  hop"  and  sent  her  card  to 
the  young  man.  The  boy  found  the  in- 
tended victim  in  the  lobby.  "There  is  a  lady 
in  the  parlor  wishes  to  see  you,"  he  said,  as 
he  handed  him  the  card.  The  young  man 
went  to  the  room  where  she  was  waiting,  and 
she  began  without  formality,  "You  have  been 
out  with  my  youngest  daughter."  The  young 
man  did  not  reply,  but  stood  quietly  listen- 
ing. "She  has  not  finished  her  education, 
and  I  want  two  thousand  dollars  to  send  her 
to  a  finishing  school."     The  young  man  then 


The  Crime  of  Blackmail  127 

spoke  in  a  quiet,  deliberate  manner,  "I  know 
your  game.  You  have  bumped  up  against 
the  wrong  man,  and  if  you  and  your  alleged 
daughters  are  not  out  of  Butte  inside  of 
twenty- four  hours,  I  will  have  you  jailed  for 
attempting  blackmail."  A  few  hours  later 
a  train  carried  them  out  of  the  city. 

Three  months  later,  the  two  girls  returned 
to  Butte  and  were  inmates  of  a  brothel  in  the 
restricted  district.  The  alleged  mother  has 
not  been  heard  from. 

I  will  mention  just  one  other  case,  as  it 
is  a  splendid  illustration  as  to  what  extent 
people  will  go  in  crime,  and  shows  how  some 
who  are  looked  upon  as  respectable  will  in- 
dulge in  the  "get  rich  quick"  proposition. 
It  is  the  case  of  two  young  men  who  were 
supposed  to  have  plenty  of  money.  It  was 
an  attempt  to  extort  a  large  sum  of  money 
from  these  young  fellows.  It  had  been 
planned  with  much  forethought,  and  some 
people  think  that  the  principal  criminals  were 
not  apprehended,  and  their  scheme  was  not 
carried  out,  and  that  was  to  drive  one  of  the 
young  fellows  from  the  city.  In  other  words, 
— make  it  so   unpleasant   for  him  he  would 


128  Sketches  of  Butte 

not  stay  in  Butte.  He  interfered  with  the 
high  hand  of  a  certain  element. 

The  young  men  both  hved  at  the  same 
hotel.  A  young  woman  came  to  the  city 
and  procured  a  position  as  manicurist  in  the 
barber  shop  of  the  hotel.  From  there  she 
went  to  a  house  of  ill  repute  not  far  from  the 
hotel. 

Now  the  principals  in  the  case  were  these: 
The  two  young  men  on  the  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  the  ex-manicurist,  a  doctor,  a  law- 
yer .whom  people  in  addressing  say,  the 
Honorable  ,  a  sanctimonious  church- 
member,  another  lawy^er  who  had  filled  one 
of  the  highest  state  offices  the  people  have 
to  offer  to  a  citizen,  and  a  woman  who,  it 
was  afterwards  learned,  was  the  mistress  of 
the  ex-State  official. 

Threats  of  a  lawsuit  were  made  if  the  men 
did  not  come  through  with  a  large  amount 
of  money.  The  threateners  were  wisely  en- 
couraged  along  to  a  position  where  it  was 
either  bring  the  suit  or  be  prosecuted  for 
attempt  at  blackmail.  The  mother  of  one 
of  the  younof  men  lived  in  an  Eastern  city. 
He  explained  matters  to  her  and  she  stood 
firmly  by  his   side.     The   young  fellows,   in 


TJie  Crime  of  Blaclxinail  129 

facing  a  nasty  "frame-up,"  argued  that  peo- 
ple who  did  not  stand  by  them  at  such  a  time 
were  not  worthy  of  the  name  friend.  Mat- 
ters  were  forced  and  at  last  the  suit  was 
brought.  Se^'eral  overtures  for  settlement 
were  made  by  the  plaintiffs.  At  one  stage 
of  the  proceedings,  the  sanctimonious  lawyer 
sent  for  one  of  the  defendants  to  come  to 
his  office,  and  ^vhen  the  young  man  went 
there,  the  fellow  said,  "For  two  hundred  and 
fiftv  dollars  I  will  have  your  name  stricken 
from  the  proceedings."  At  the  same  time, 
the  doctor  in  the  case  made  the  same  propo- 
sition to  the  other  young  fellow. 

It  was  a  clever  mode  of  ^^I'ocedure,  but  it 
fell  through,  and  a  day  for  the  hearing  was 
set.  The  day  before  the  hearing,  the  ex-State 
official  called  at  the  office  of  one  of  the 
defendant's  attorneys  and  made  a  plea  to 
withdraw  the  case.  "I  will  withdraw  the  case 
for  two  dollars  and  a  half^  just  what  it  cost 
to  draw  up  the  complaint."  His  offer  was 
refused.  It  was  another  clever  ruse,  but  did 
not  work. 

At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  day 
set  for  the  hearing,  the  plaintiffs  were  not  in 
Court,    neither    was    the    doctor    nor    sancti- 


130  Sketches  of  Butte 

monious  lawyer.  The  ex-State  official  was 
there.  When  the  Coui't  convened  he  had 
disappeared,  and  the  Judge  let  the  case  go 
over  until  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
When  that  hour  came,  even  the  ex-official 
was  not  there.  This  was  Monday,  and  the 
Judge  let  it  go  over  until  the  following 
Thursday,  and  when  that  day  came  none  of 
the  parties  to  the  complaint  were  to  be  found, 
and  later  on  it  was  learned  that  the  ex- 
manicurist  was  an  inmate  of  a  brothel  in 
San  Francisco,  and  the  other  "lady"  in  the 
case  was  a  resident  of  "The  Castle,"  the  most 
exclusive  resort  in  the  restricted  district  of 
Helena. 


Chapter  Fourteen 
PATRIOTS   AND    TRAITORS 

When  the  world  war  began  it  seemed  in 
Butte  a  signal  for  an  orgy  of  profiteering. 
Professional  flag  wavers  and  other  traitors 
of  the  rankest  type  were  much  in  evidence. 
They  were  at  the  head  of  patriotic  parades, 
and  the  loudest  spouters  of  "hot  air"  at 
meetings.  And  when  lined  up  against  the 
bar  of  their  club  would  tell  most  startling 
stories  of  bravery  and  what  they  would  do 
if  younger — playing  to  the  gallery;  a  men- 
tal condition  almost  unbelievable.  They 
would  give  their  money,  but  scheme  in  some 
way  to  get  it  back  from  the  less  fortunate; 
just  a  little  touch  of  profiteering  here  and 
there. 

Some  gave  wholly  for  the  glory  of  self- 
advertising,  and  humanity  was  laid  aside  by 
the  fake  philanthropist  and  limelight  seekers. 

Many  in  life's  young  morning,  so  myste- 
rious, so  splendid,  proudly  volunteered  to  go 
where   the    war   cry    of    freedom    would    be 

131 


132  Sketches  of  Butte 

loudest  and  clear,  and  glory  and  work  came 
to  them  blended. 


Twilight  came  and  all  nature  seemed  a  land  of  dreams 
As  the  sound  of  music  wheeled  into  the  air, 

Full  of  life  like  the  world  in  springtime  teems, 
The  boys  answered  the  bugle  blare. 

And  then  along  the  quiet  street. 

Beneath  a  purple  and  crimson  low-hanging  cloud. 
Came  the  muffled  sound  of  many  feet 

And  a  wave  of  colors  proud. 

They  were  answering  the  voice  of  their  Nation. 
"Your  path  of  honor  is  made  plain  and  clear ; 
Let  the  gun  be  a  joy — not  a  yoke; 

Let  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  fill  the  air." 

They  marched  by  in  manly  rows ; 

Each  eye  told  of  the  spirit  of  pride  within. 
Their  cheeks  not  ashen,  but  like  a  rose 

In  twilight  shadows,  cool  and  dim. 

Evening  glow  came  stealing  through  a  cloud  that  was 
fading  away, 

Like  a  river  ceasing  to  flow; 
Friends  waved,  "God  speed  you  on  your  way!" 

As  they  tramped  ahead  to  meet  the  foe. 


Patriots  and  Traitors  133 

It  was  a  glowing  crimson  time  of  change, 

An  evening  not  to  be  forgot ; 
Life  throbbing  and  quivering  strong  and  strange, 

As  they  marched  by  with  never  a  stop. 

The  music,  not  muffled,  but  soft,  gave  thrills 

To  the  fathomless  dreaming  air. 
Full  of  glory  and  pride,  though  still. 

As  they  passed  their  friends  standing  there. 

The  air  was  full  of  pride  and  farewell 

As  they  marched  along  with  steady  tramp ; 

The  music  was  mystic,  as  soft  notes  fell 

And  died  in  the  distance  with  that  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp. 

Some  did  not  return,  for  they  fell  asleej)  in 
the  glare  and  blast  of  the  cannon's  roar.  In 
poppy  fields  of  France  crosses  mark  the  spot 
where  they  rest.    They  were — 

Boys  whose  heart-strings  to  rest  were  stilled 

Not  on  the  path  of  Gethsemane ; 
For  their  anthem  was  sung  on   the  battlefield  with 
patriotic  thrill 

Of  love  and  honor  by  their  comrades  many. 

Boys  who  would  say,  "Come  away  from  that  path. 
That  road  that  leads  to  Gethsemane ; 

For  we  want  much  cheer  right  up  to  the  last, 
To  encourage  the  weak  hearts  of  many." 


134  Sketches  of  Butte 

Boys  who  would  say,  "We  have  entered  the  portals 
that  lie  ahead, 

Not  the  land  of  Gethsemane; 
A  land  where  we  speak  no  such  word  as  dead, 

A  realm  of  reward  to  soldiers  many." 

From  the  portals  beyond  we  hear  their  refrain — 
"Let  us  lead  you  from  the  path  of  Gethsemane; 
Our  spirits  will  hover  near  and  mark  your  path  until 
we  meet  again 
Where  you  will  learn  the  mysteries   of  life  and 
understand — with  comrades  many." 

Those  who  returned  in  the  noble  grace  of 
manhood  robed,  and  souls  throbbing  with  life 
and  the  true  feeling  of  man,  proud  and  under 
the  flag  their  fathers  flew,  with  heads  erect, 
marched  through  the  multitude's  roar  for  the 
Boys  and  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. 

Woodlands  echoed  a  new-born  day 

Of  life  full  of  hope  and  gleam ; 
Now  proudly  they  go  their  different  way, 

Happy  to  think  they  helped  work  out  God's  scheme. 

As  peace  thrills  the  tranquil  deep,  I 

And  murmuring  rhythmic  calm  fills 
Shadowy  vales  and  prairies  that  sweep 

Far  out  towards  majestic  mountains  and  rolling 
hills— 


Patriots  and  Traitors  135 

The  slacker  comes  back  to  town.  The 
draft-evader  does  not  know  the  meaning  of 
the  word  shame  any  more  than  does  the 
profiteer.  If  he  has  a  sHght  feehng  of  a 
world  glorified  by  truth  and  honor,  how  he 
must  cringe  before  memories,  for  he  has  no 
noble  recollections  of  the  part  he  played. 


Chapter  Fifteen 
THE  HANGING  OF  FRANK  LITTLE 

A  far  cry  from  the  rude  justice  of  Vigi- 
lante days,  the  darkest  shadow  ever  placed 
on  Butte's  shady  canvas  was  the  assassination 
of  Frank  Little.  jNIany  newswriters  tried  to 
dignify  the  act  by  the  word  "lynching."  It 
was  not  a  lynching.  It  had  not  the  semblance 
of  an  early  day  lynching,  when  honorable 
men  gave  the  suspect  a  fair  trial  and  if  he 
was  convicted  they  hanged  him  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  populace. 

They  were  a  few  masked  cowards  who 
went  in  the  dead  of  niffht  to  the  victim  thev 
knew  had  been  drugged  by  a  traitor  and  lay 
sleeping  while  waiting  their  coming;  his 
clothes  lying  over  the  back  of  a  chair  while 
he  quietly  slept  on.  He  was  an  agitator, 
but  had  the  right  to  a  trial,  which  was  denied 
him. 

In  this  day  and  age  there  are  Courts  of 
Justice  where  people  may  carry  grievances 
and  have  them  adjusted;  but  no,  they  went 

136 


Tlw  Hanging  of  Frank  Little       137 

like  animals  crazed  for  blood.  They  broke 
down  one  door  but  did  not  find  him.  They 
broke  down  another  just  across  the  hall  and 
there  found  him  (as  the  evidence  given  at 
the  inquest  showed)  lying  fast  asleep.  They 
laid  the  bedding  over  the  foot  of  the  bed  (as 
the  evidence  showed)  and  then  dragged  the 
cripple  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
night  and  then  into  an  automobile  that  stood 
in  waiting;  and  quickly  drove  to  a  trestle  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  city.  They  were  looking 
for  blood  and  found  it,  for  it  came  from 
wounds  they  inflicted  upon  the  body  of  their 
AHctim  before  they  hanged  him  to  the  trestle. 
This  was  during  recent  labor  troubles  and 
caused   world-wide   comment. 

The  funeral  procession  of  Frank  Little 
formed  near  the  Federal  building  and  the 
Marcus  Daly  monument,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  Daly  stood  there  upon  the  granite  pedestal 
a  silent  looker-on.  It  was  the  most  unusual 
funeral  procession  that  has  ever  passed  along 
the  streets  of  a  city.  The  body  reposing  in 
a  gray  casket  over  which  had  been  laid  a 
blanket  of  red  bloom,  fastened  by  streamers 
of  ribbon  of  the  same  color,  was  borne  on  the 
shoidders  of  six  stalwart  men  as  it  was  re- 


138  Sketches  of  Butte 

moved  from  the  undertakers'  parlor  to  the 
street,  and  there  the  procession  fomied  and 
started  on  the  silent  march  of  three  miles 
down  the  mountain  side  to  a  cemetery  in  the 
valley. 

On  the  side  streets  adjacent  to  Main  were 
societies  waiting  to  fall  in  line  when  their 
turn  came.  First  a  band  softly  playing  a 
funeral  dirge  moved  down  the  street;  then 
one  or  two  societies,  and  following  on  the 
shoulders  of  six  friends  came  the  casket  con- 
taining the  body.  The  moving-picture  man 
was  there  and  along  the  line  of  march 
cameras  were  in  windows.  Silent  men 
marched  four  abreast.  Women  with  babes 
at  the  breast  were  in  line.  Mothers  pushed 
go-carts  while  fathers  carried  children  who 
were  not  able  to  walk. 

From  where  I  stood  watching  the  unusual 
procession,  I  heard  chunk-chunk-chunk.  It 
was  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg,  not  an  artificial 
limb,  just  a  wooden  stump  that  went  chunk- 
chunk-chunk  as  he  silently  plodded  along, 
and  not  far  behind  him  came  a  man  on 
crutches. 

I  stood  at  a  comer  of  a  street  where  the 
Company  offices  were.     As  marchers  reached 


The  Hanging  of  Frank  Little         139 

the  corner  I  noticed  eyes  glance  up  at  the 
building  and  then  straiglit  ahead  as  they 
marched  on.  There  was  no  word  of  com- 
plaint uttered,  but  tragedy  was  M^ritten  upon 
each  face,  and  I  said  to  myself  as  I  stood 
there,  "And  some  wonder  why  there  is  class 
hatred." 

Services  were  held  at  the  grave,  and  as  the 
casket  was  being  lowered,  friends  passed  by 
and  placed  a  red  carnation  on  the  top  of  the 
already  bloom-covered  casket. 


Chapter  Sixteen 
MAINLY    ABOUT    HOUSES 

Even  in  architecture  Butte  is  not  like  any 
other  city  in  the  world,  for  here  and  there 
one  will  find  a  touch  of  Serb,  Greek,  Italian 
and  English;  also  some  attractive  Swiss  and 
other  designs.  Two  Irishmen,  who  made 
fortunes,  built  beautiful  places,  Southern 
Colonial  in  design,  such  as  one  would  see 
on  large  estates,  but  not  in  cities. 

Towards  the  center  of  the  city  from  these 
two  places,  there  are  three  houses  Spanish 
in  architecture.  They  stand  on  a  rise  of 
ground  called  Hibernian  Terrace,  and  on  a 
corner  further  in  is  a  house  patterned  after 
a  wing  of  a  French  chateau,  and  close  by  is 
a  combination  of  arts,  but  no  harmonious 
whole;  the  color  scheme  is  good. 

And  then  as  we  follow  on  to  the  east  side 
of  the  city,  we  see  a  touch  of  Chinese.  Near 
Timber  Butte  one  will  see  a  curl  of  blue 
smoke  coming  from  an  Indian  tepee,  and  at 

140 


Meanly  About  Houses  141 

the  foot  of  Big  Butte  stands  an  attractive 
Dutch  Colonial. 

The  most  artistic  residence  in  the  city  is 
one  on  the  brow  of  a  knoll  called  "Lovers' 
Roost."  It  is  patterned  after  a  Swiss  chalet 
and  built  entirely  of  manganese  and  silver 
ore,  and  at  times  when  the  atmosphere  is 
clear  and  the  sun  rays  bright,  the  color  effect 
is  beautiful. 

The  house,  patterned  after  a  wing  of  a 
French  chateau,  was  built  by  a  son  of  a 
multi-millionaire.  The  young  man  married 
and  went  to  Europe  for  the  honeymoon,  and 
it  was  while  on  this  trip  they  saw  and  ad- 
mired the  old  chateau. 

When  the  house  was  finished,  there  was 
no  lawn  sin-rounding  it,  for  it  was  erected 
at  a  time  when  grass  would  not  grow  in  the 
city,  and  house-plants  could  not  live  if  a  win- 
dow was  left  open,  for  the  leaves  of  plants 
would  turn  yellow  and  tlien  wither  and  dry. 
So  the  young  people  had  the  yard  flagged 
with  cobble-stone. 

Even  the  shamrock  does  not  blossom  in 
its  natural  color,  no  matter  how  well  it  is 
guarded.  A  relative  in  the  Old  Country 
sent  a  box  of  shamrock  roots  and  some  soil 


142  Sketches  of  Butte 

to  a  relative  in  Butte.  The  roots  were  planted 
and  protected  in  every  way.  At  last,  sprouts 
appeared  above  the  earth,  and  there  was 
great  rejoicing  in  the  neighborhood,  for  they 
were  soon  to  see  the  real  shamrock  blossom. 
Buds  came,  and  then  sorrow,  for  the  blossom 
was  yellow.  Some  laid  it  to  the  sulphur 
fmiies,  others  to  the  influence  of  a  Cornish 
colony  close  by. 

In  the  young  millionaire's  home  there  was 
a  beautiful  library  finished  in  bird's-eye 
maple,  and  in  the  other  part  of  the  house  the 
woodwork  was  mahogany  and  old  ivory. 
The  house  has  changed  owners  several  times. 
The  second  owners  made  many  changes.  One 
day  I  was  asked  to  go  over  and  see  the  im- 
provements. When  I  went  in  I  was  stag- 
gered to  see  what  had  been  done.  White 
enamel  paint  had  been  put  over  the  beautiful 
old  ivory.  "I  never  could  get  the  paint  to 
look  clean,"  said  the  occupant,  in  speaking  of 
the  old  ivory.  And  when  she  showed  me  the 
library,  she  said,  "You  know,  mahogany  is  so 
'swell.'  "   She  had  stained  the  bird's-eye  maple. 

When  people  became  rich  on  short  notice, 
it  seemed  to  be  the  heart's  desire  to  live  in 
this  house. 


Mainly  About  Houses  143 

The  drawing-room  was  a  large  octagonal 
apartment,  and  anything  but  easy  to  furnish. 
The  first  owners  had  some  handsome  pieces 
of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  and  Sixteenth,  and 
antique  tapestries,  and  the  room  was  very 
attractive.  But  those  following  did  not 
know.  One  day  I  met  one  of  the  occupants 
of  later  years  standing  looking  into  the  win- 
dow of  an  Oriental  rug  store.  I  stopped  to 
speak  with  her.  "Are  you  buying  rugs  this 
morning?"  I  asked.  "I  should  say  not!" 
she  answered,  in  much  spirit.  "None  of 
them  things  for  me.  I  think  this  fellow  be 
a  fake,  so  I  do,  an' — I  heered  he  were  a 
camel  driver  in  his  own  countrj^  He  per- 
suaded us  to  take  some  of  um  on  approval, 
so  he  did,  an'  he  come  up  an'  put  'em  down 
hisself.  He  didn't  tack  um  down,  an'  they 
wouldn't  lay  straight.  One  day  I  wint  into 
the  parlor,  so  I  did,  an'  me  fate  slipt  an'  I 
wint  down  an'  almost  unther  the  middle  rug. 
The  old  man  came  runnin'  up,  so  he  did,  to 
say  phwat  were  the  matter,  an'  whin  I  looked 
up,  he  were  a-slidin'  across  the  floor  on  one 
of  thim  Sherooks;  an'  we  sent  um  all  back. 
I  wint  down  town,  so  I  did,  an'  had  a  foine 
one  made,  an'  had  it  made  round  to  fit  the 


144  Sketches  of  Butte 

room.  I  don't  care  much  far  thim  polished 
floors,  fer  ivery  toime  I  mop  up  the  dust  I 
have  to  pohsh  thim  agin,  so  I  do." 

"Look  at  this  one,  now,"  she  said,  pointing 
to  a  pretty  Beluchistan,  "an'  see  if  ye  don't 
think  he  be  a  fake.  It's  two  or  three  shades 
hghter  at  this  end  than  it  be  at  the  other." 

As  we  stood  talking,  a  man  who  had  just 
made  a  "clean  up"  and  bought  a  prettj^  home, 
came  along  and  said  to  me,  "You  are  just 
the  man  I  want  to  see.  Come  into  Samo- 
leon's  with  me.  My  wife  wants  an  Oriental 
rug,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  select  it." 

The  dealer  first  showed  him  a  beautiful 
T loyal-Bokhara.  "These  are  all  fine  Orien- 
tals," he  said,  as  he  displayed  a  handsome 
Kirmanshah  and  Shiraz.  He  did  not  seem 
pleased  with  any  that  had  been  shown  to  him. 
The  dealer  brought  out  another,  and  while 
unfolding  it  said,  "Now,  this  is  the  finest 
Turkish  I  have  in  the  house."  The  customer 
said,  as  he  waved  his  hand,  "You  needn't 
unfold  it,  she  has  her  heart  set  on  an  Ori- 
ental." 

A  market  called  City  Public  Market  has 
been  established  in  the  city,  and  is  a  mass 
of  architecture  in  itself.    When  I  went  down 


•1    ;•         i 


'    I  '    I 


>^     t      '    \ 


.  T^yi^tnui  t    •'    1^  f  ( 


t  i^   •  '■    h 


f  ':,■ 


^^^ 


<;,  ;  1^' 


tti%»^-^  i 


Mainly  About  Houses  145 

the  hill  to  this  market  the  first  glimpse  of 
the  place  sort  of  staggered  me,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  "Plow  incongruous,"  and  my  mind 
at  once  traveled  back  to  Italy  and  the  Appian 
Way,  a  road  leading  into  Rome,  and  an 
afternoon  I  was  out  for  a  drive  and  stopped 
at  an  old  tomb  that  had  been  swept  out  and 
made  a  living  place  for  a  family,  while  another 
had  been  converted  into  a  store  where  bits 
of  things  were  sold. 

In  chapter  "Wandering  Around"  I  de- 
scribe the  section  of  the  city  where  this 
market  is  located.  The  little  one-room 
shacks  huddled  close  together  and  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  are  the  small  "cribs" 
where  in  early  days  unfortunates  stood  in  the 
doorway  and  solicited.  They  have  been  made 
into  booths  where  groceries,  meats  and  other 
produce  is  sold. 

On  the  outer  edge  of  the  sidewalk  small 
stalls  are  built,  half  over  a  portion  of  the 
walk  and  part  in  the  street.  The  front  of 
the  stalls  faced  the  doors  of  the  "cribs"  and 
a  roof  built  over  the  walk  from  the  stalls  to 
the  "cribs,"  gave  it  a  decidedly  foreign 
appearance,  and  resembled  market-places  in 
poorer    sections    of    foreign    cities,    such    as 


146  Sketches  of  Butte 

Petticoat  Alley  in  the  Whitechapel  district 
of  London,  where  Saturday  nights  one  can 
buy  anything  from  a  piano  to  a  pig's  snout, 
and  Paddy's  Market  in  Cork,  where  on  Sat- 
urday marketers  flock  to  buy  provisions  for 
the  Sabbath  day. 

When  I  entered  the  passageway,  the  first 
booth  I  stopped  at  was  occupied  by  a  Finnish 
woman.  I  said  to  her,  "Much  like  Helsing- 
fors?" 

At  first  she  was  surprised.  "You  know 
Helsingfors?"  she  smiled  pleasantly.  "Yes, 
it  does;  but  not  as  large,"  she  said,  as  I 
turned  to  take  notice  of  a  Hussian  Jew  who 
came  slowly  along.  He  wore  the  long  beard 
and  Derby  hat  pulled  low  on  the  head,  so 
characteristic  of  his  race,  and  the  Prince 
Albert  coat  and  gold  hoop  earrings  were  not 
forgotten.  True — the  coat  was  old  and  be- 
draggled, and  the  hat  faded  and  dusty, 
nevertheless  it  was  the  costume,  and  I  said 
to  the  woman  I  had  been  talking  with,  "I 
must  leave  you,  for  here  comes   Moscow." 

He  was  pleasant  and  smiled  when  I  said 
to  him:  "My  man,  you  should  be  pushing  a 
cart  filled  with  jewelry,  pretty  laces,  some 
corset-covers   and   gay-colored   ribbons." 


Mainly  About  Houses  147 

"I  see  you  have  been  in  my  country,"  he 
smiled,  and  passed  on. 

I  also  slowly  walked  along,  stopping  here 
and  there,  and  in  imagination  again  visiting 
the  markets  of  Venice,  Palermo,  Algiers  and 
other  interesting  places. 

In  the  early  sixties  a  few  prospectors, 
looking  for  gold,  pitched  their  tents  on  the 
site  that  is  now  Butte.  And  a  little  later, 
and  some  farther  up  the  side  of  the  hill,  a 
few  log  cabins  were  built  and  the  camp 
staked  out  and  named  Butte  City,  for  it  was 
near  a  barren  hill  called  Big  Butte,  and  so 
the  spectacular  city  of  Butte  was  born  to 
become  the  most  noted  camp  in  the  world, 
and  about  fifty-two  nationalities  are  repre- 
sented today,  and  their  influence  adds  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  camp. 

JNIanj^  there  are  who  have  memory  and  love 
for  the  Fatherland,  and  this  is  shown  in  the 
architecture  of  their  homes. 

I  remember  seeing  the  modest  home  of  a 
Greek.  In  front  of  the  little  three-room 
cottage  were  two  columns,  one  at  either  side 
of  the  door.  They  were  made  out  of  the 
trunks  of  pine  trees — trunks  that  had  been 
barked  and  placed   in  position  to  represent 


148  Sketches  of  Butte 

Corinthian  columns.  It  showed  the  inborn 
love  for  columnar  architecture.  I  noticed  at 
the  top  of  one  column  some  crude  carving 
made  to  represent  acanthus  leaves. 


Chapter  Seventeen 
THE   PLAGUE 

The  tragedy  of  a  great  disaster  is  no 
novelty  in  Butte.  Again  and  again  anxious 
throngs  have  passed  around  the  openings 
to  the  mine  shafts,  or  watched  the  slow  curl- 
ing smoke  wreaths,  that  told  of  death  to  the 
workers  imprisoned  thousands  of  feet  below. 
But  in  after  years  the  plague  of  1918  will 
be  recorded  as  Butte's  greatest  tragedy. 
Early  in  the  year  there  were  rumors  of  the 
appearance  of  a  new  and  virulent  plague 
that  threatened  the  world.  It  first  appeared 
in  Europe,  then  came  to  us.  Climatic  con- 
ditions did  not  effect  it.  It  scourged  every 
land  and  clime — the  polar  regions  and  the 
tropics. 

It  had  been  very  violent  among  the  Esqui- 
maux of  northern  Alaska,  while  Papeete,  the 
principal  city  of  Tahiti — an  island  just  south 
of  the  Equator,  lost  twenty  per  cent  of  its 
population,  and  here  in  America  its  first  toll 
was   well   over   half   a   million.      The   "black 

149 


150  Sketches  of  Butte 

death"  of  the  fourteenth  century  alone  in 
history  compares  with  the  Plague  of  1918-19, 
although  of  a  vastly  different  nature.  Dur- 
ing the  scom'ge  of  "black  death"  Italy  lost 
one-half  of  her  population.  At  that  time  the 
masses  of  Switzerland  were  without  educa- 
tion and  as  is  usually  the  case  with  such 
people  superstition  was  uppermost  and  the 
Jews  were  accused  of  poisoning  the  wells. 
This  intensified  religious  fanaticism  and  per- 
secutions followed.  The  peacock  feather,  the 
symbol  of  the  Jews,  was  not  allowed  worn 
and  all  the  peacocks  in  the  land  were  killed. 
That  is  why,  by  many,  the  peacock  feather 
is  considered  unlucky. 

In  many  localities,  after  losing  its  viru- 
lence, the  present  disease  returns  in  a  more 
virulent  form.  There  seems  to  be  three 
germs,  each  with  characteristics  peculiarly  its 
own.  The  three  distinct  types  of  disease  are 
both  contagious  and  infectious. 

Owing  to  the  cosmopolitan  population, 
Butte  was  the  most  advantageous  place  to 
study  the  disease;  so  interesting  to  watch 
and  work  with  different  temperaments. 
Foreigners,  especially  those  of  the  Latin 
countries,    are   more    nervous    and    excitable. 


The  Plague  151 

Grab  them  mentally,  if  possible,  and  by  so 
doing  make  the  delirium  less  violent  or  death 
easier.  While  they  are  being  prepared  for 
bed,  try  and  get  the  extent  of  their  education, 
their  station  in  life,  their  trend  of  thought, 
and  by  so  doing  it  is  easier  to  help  them 
through  the  crisis.  Knowing  the  patient, 
one  can  more  easily  give  the  mental  sugges- 
tion. The  "Flu"  is  more  than  one-third 
mental.  JNIany  without  temperature  or  a 
symptom  of  the  disease  died  of  fright.  Many 
developed  general  malaise  and  gradually 
sank  away. 

As  a  rule  the  disease  develops  rapidly, 
reaching  its  crisis  in  about  three  days.  An- 
other form,  the  patient  feels  miserable  for 
a  few  days,  but  does  not  know  the  cause. 
He  would  pooli-pooh  the  suggestion  of 
plague  until  at  last  it  reaches  the  heart  and 
he  dies  suddenly;  some  drop  in  the  street. 

A  large  airy  schoolhouse  was  turned  over 
to  the  Red  Cross  for  a  hospital  as  the  city 
hospitals  were  all  filled.  When  the  hospital 
was  opened  to  receive  patients  the  school 
teachers  and  a  few  other  volunteer  women 
came  together  as  one.  They  were  there  to 
cook,  they  were  there  to  nurse.     They  were 


152  Sketches  of  Butte 

God's  noble  women — there  to  do  anything 
in  their  power  for  the  sufferers.  They  were 
in  the  kitchen  and  sick  rooms,  banded  to- 
gether in  true  womanhood,  working  night 
and  day  with  a  zeal  surpassed  by  none. 

In  the  office  were  two  men:  one,  a  true 
man  reared  under  the  blue  skies,  with  the 
pure  air  of  the  west  to  breathe,  a  possessor 
of  sincere  friendship  and  love  of  humanity; 
the  other  of  foreign  birth,  small  and  delicate 
in  stature,  with  a  finesse  such  as  Oscar  Wilde 
possessed  when  he  made  his  initial  tour  of 
America,  a  time  when  he  wore  knickerbockers 
and  a  sunflower  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat;  a 
time  when  he  made  the  startling  announce- 
ment, "A  kitchen  stove  is  the  most  horrible 
thing  I  can  look  at."  It  was  necessary  for 
the  nurses  to  carry  through  the  corridors 
commodities  used  in  the  sick  rooms.  The 
young  man's  artistic  temperament  revolted 
and  he  was  soon  taken  to  his  bed. 

The  ambulance  was  kept  busy  night  and 
day  bringing  in  the  sick.  Doctors'  cars  stood 
in  front  of  the  main  entrance  at  all  times. 
There  was  a  back  door  and  a  side  door  where 
the  undertakers  came.  Patients  who  were 
able  to  stand  alone  when  they  left  the  am- 


The  Plague  153 

balance  at  the  front  door  seemed  dazed;  some 
were  emaciated  from  hunger  and  long  at- 
tempt to  care  for  themselves. 

One  handsome  young  fellow  said  to  me, 
as  he  came  in:  "Doctor,  will  you  give  me  a 
sandwich?  I  am,  oh!  so  hungry."  He  did 
not  live  long;  there  was  not  enough  left  to 
work  on. 

In  one  ward,  two  days  after  the  hospital 
opened  its  doors  to  receive  patients,  in  the 
west  end  of  the  large  room,  was  a  row  of 
five  beds,  each  bed  containing  a  delirious 
patient — strong,  robust  men,  and  across  the 
narrow  aisle  were  four  cots  with  as  many 
delirious  patients.  Out  of  the  nine  we  saved 
four.  They  were  all  desperately  sick  and 
most  of  them  violently  delirious.  This  ward 
was  a  splendid  illustration  of  Butte's  cos- 
mopolitan population  for,  at  one  time,  I 
remember,  there  were  several  Austrians,  a 
jMormon,  two  Greeks,  two  Irishmen,  a  Cor- 
nishman,  a  Jew,  two  Americans,  a  Finn,  an 
Italian,  a  Polander,  a  Slav  and  a  Swede. 

One  night  it  was  necessary  to  give  an 
Italian  a  hypodermic  of  morphine;  he  was 
becoming  violently  delirious.  I  was  holding 
him  down  trying  to  get  his  arm  in  a  position 


154  Sketches  of  Butte 

where  he  could  not  jerk  and  break  the  needle. 
As  he  felt  the  prick  of  the  needle  he  became 
very  violent  and  bit  me  on  the  arm.  It  was 
necessary  to  tie  his  hands  and  feet.  Soon 
the  narcotic  took  effect  and  he  fell  asleep. 
For  several  days  after  that  he  would  watch 
me  closely  as  I  passed  around  the  ward,  and 
to  some  of  those  who  came  near  him,  he 
would  say,  "I  don't  like  the  big  fellow;  he 
sticks  needles  in  me."  He  again  became  vio- 
lent and  very  noisy,  and  it  was  again  neces- 
sary to  give  him  a  hypodermic.  When  he 
quieted  down,  he  said  to  me:  "I  feel  better; 
I  go  to  sleep;  when  I  wake  up  I  be  quiet." 
I  had  gained  his  confidence  and  he  got  well. 
Whenever  I  would  go  near  his  cot  he  would 
move  his  legs  over  to  make  room  for  me  to 
sit  down. 

A  Polander  lay  desperately  sick  and  de- 
lirious, but  not  violent.  In  the  forepart  of 
the  night  several  doctors  said:  "You  will 
send  him  to  the  undertaker's  before  morning." 
About  midnight  the  delirious  man  said  to 
me:  "Doctor,  is  the  war  over?"  I  told  him 
I  thought  so  and  that  I  was  to  be  President 
of  Poland.  "How  splendid,"  he  said,  as  he 
brightened  up.     I  asked  him  if  he  wanted  to 


The  Plague  155 

work  for  me.  "Yes,"  lie  said,  "let's  go  back 
now,"  and  he  tried  to  leave  his  bed.  I  told 
him  he  was  sick,  but  we  would  go  as  soon 
as  he  got  well,  and  he  was  to  be  my  coach- 
man. I  asked  him  to  try  and  help  me  make 
him  well.  I  described  the  livery  I  was  to 
have  made  for  him  and  then  he  fell  asleep. 
During  the  days  that  followed  he  would  say 
to  those  who  came  near  him,  "The  big  doctor 
is  to  be  President  of  Poland  and  I  am  going 
to  work  for  him."  A  week  or  so  later  he  left 
for  Spokane  a  well  man. 

I  said  to  a  Greek  who  lay  in  a  bed  adjoin- 
ing the  Polander's:  "Have  you  ever  been 
through  the  Dardanelles?"  He  said,  "Yes, 
many  times."  I  put  him  in  charge  of  a  gun 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Dardanelles  and  he 
watched  it  faithfully.  Once  in  a  while  I 
would  go  to  the  side  of  his  bed  and  say  to 
him,  "Son,  I'm  through  with  my  work  now 
and  will  watch  the  gun  while  you  rest."  He 
would  fall  asleep.    He  is  a  well  man  today. 

One  young  fellow,  nineteen  years  of  age, 
was  in  such  condition  it  was  necessary  to 
tie  his  feet  to  the  bars  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
his  hands  at  the  side,  and  a  strip  of  cloth 
under  his  chin  and  tied  to  the  bars   at  the 


156  Sketches  of  Butte 

head  of  the  bed.  His  doctor  treated  him 
with  ice  compresses.  We  tried  every  possible 
means  to  quiet  him.  At  last  I  said  to  him: 
"Bill,  I'm  dreadfully  busy  and  want  you  to 
look  after  this  part  of  the  ward  and  report 
to  me  when  I  return."  He  quieted  down, 
and  when  I  went  to  his  bed  some  time  later 
he  said:  "All  those  fellows  have  colds  but  one 
and  he's  a  nut;  he's  got  the  'flu.'"  I  told 
him  I  was  all  through  with  my  work  and 
would  watch  them  while  he  got  his  rest,  and 
he  fell  asleep.     He  is  now  back  at  work. 

I  believe  most  of  the  patients,  although 
unable  to  give  expression,  are  conscious  up 
to  the  last.  Gus,  a  Greek,  bears  me  out  in 
this.  At  the  beginning  of  his  sickness  he  did 
not  sleep  at  all,  was  nois}'',  and  sang  a  great 
deal  in  an  undertone.  Hypodermics  had  no 
effect  upon  him.  I  asked  him  to  try  count- 
ing sheep  jumping  over  a  fence.  He  tried 
it  before  becoming  delirious.  He  was  about 
four  days  dying,  and  just  before  the  breath 
left  his  body  I  could  hear  him  counting  al- 
most inaudibly,  one,  two,  three;  one,  two, 
three  came  from  the  lips  that  were  parched 
with  tartian  malaria. 

An  Austrian's  death  brought  tears  to  many 


The  Plague  157 

eyes.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow,  and  a 
fine  patient.  Wonderfully  educated.  When 
asked  his  nationality,  he  said  in  a  joshing 
way:  "I'm  a  Scandinavian."  As  he  was 
passing  into  delirium  I  said  to  him:  "John, 
what  part  of  Scandinavia  are  j'ou  from?" 
He  looked  at  me  and  said,  "For  God's  sake 
don't  call  me  a  Swede.  I'm  an  Austrian." 
And  from  that  time  on,  even  after  coming 
from  delirium,  he  often  spoke  his  native 
tongue.  One  night  he  asked  me  to  let  him 
hold  the  rosary  in  his  hands.  "First,"  he  said, 
"let  us  sing  'Over  There.'  "  He  had  a  good 
voice  and  sang  a  few  lines  of  the  patriotic 
song.  His  strength  was  on  the  wane  and 
he  could  go  no  further.  His  nerves  were 
active  almost  to  the  state  of  hysteria. 
"Daddy,"  he  said,  "may  I  have  a  cigarette?" 
I  drew  a  screen  partly  around  his  cot  and 
let  him  have  one.  Only  one  or  two  attempts 
to  smoke  and  he  laid  it  down.  I  asked  him 
whv  he  called  me  "Daddv."  His  answer 
was:  "Because  we  love  those  who  are  kind 
to  us."  He  asked  me  if  I  knew  the  story 
of  the  song,  "The  Rosary."  AVhen  I  told 
him  I  did,  he  said:  "Tell  it  to  me.  I  know 
it,    but    I    want    to    hear   vou   tell    it."      He 


158  Sketches  of  Butte 

quietly  listened  as  I  told  how  Rodgers,  the 
composer  of  the  words,  was  inspired  by  an 
episode  in  his  life,  and  how  he  found  expres- 
sion in  the  string  of  pearls,  and  of  the 
romance  and  tragic  death  of  the  composer 
of  the  music.  When  I  had  finished  he  looked 
around  and  then  said,  "Daddy,  draw  the 
screen  a  little  closer  and  come  here."  He 
then  told  me  of  the  romance  in  his  life,  and 
the  love  story  he  told  in  Spanish  was  like  a 
beautiful  bouquet.  They  were  the  last  ra- 
tional words  he  spoke.  Soon  there  were  signs 
of  meningitis,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  under- 
taker came. 

A  young  man  from  the  Postal  Telegraph 
office  was  an  interesting  patient.  He  was 
restless  and  kept  trying  to  get  out  of  bed. 
The  forepart  of  one  night  he  said  to  me,  "I 
want  to  send  a  private  message."  I  told  him 
to  lie  back  on  his  pillows  and  let  me  tuck 
his  feet  in  and  then  he  could  send  it.  His 
right  hand  came  out  of  the  covers,  and  for  a 
moment  his  fingers  worked  an  imaginary 
ticker.  Then  he  said,  "Please  look  after  the 
office  while  I  send  this  Armour  &  Co.  code 
message  to  Spokane."  He  then  worked  the 
imaginary  ticker  for  about  half  an  hour,  and 


The  Plague  159 

then  said,  "I'm  tired — it's  hard  work,  the 
phrasing  is  so  difficult." 

I  told  him  I  also  was  tired  and  asked  him 
to  go  to  sleep  and  let  me  go  to  bed,  and  in 
the  morning  we  would  straighten  up  things. 
He  fell  asleep.  In  about  two  hours  I  went 
in  the  ward  again.  He  was  sitting  up  in  bed. 
One  of  the  nurses  said  he  had  been  asking 
for  me.  When  I  went  to  the  side  of  his 
bed  he  said,  "I  have  a  thirteen  hundred  word 
message  to  send.    Please  help  me." 

He  lay  back  on  the  pillow  and  closed  his 
eyes  while  his  fingers  worked  the  imaginary 
ticker  for  a  little  over  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  then  he  looked  up  at  me  and  said,  "It's 
finished.  ]My  work  is  done."  Then  closed 
his  eyes  and  soon  the  undertaker  came. 

JNIany  souls  seemed  too  weak  to  release 
themselves  from  tlie  bodj^  One  night  a 
hurry  call  came  for  me  to  go  to  a  ward  on 
the  second  floor.  A  man  wished  to  make 
his  will.  A  few  days  before  I  had  sent  his 
wife  to  the  undertaker's.  When  I  went  into 
that  room  the  scene  was  worse  tlian  any 
picture  of  Dante's  Inferno.  The  lights  were 
dimmed  by  tissue  paper.  Patients  were 
writhing    and    groaning    in    anguish,    and    a 


160  Sketches  of  Butte 

purple  haze  had  settled  over  several  who 
were  passing  away.  A  minister  was  making 
a  spectacular  prayer  beside  a  patient's  bed, 
while  the  nurses  went  quietly  about  their 
work.  After  I  drew  up  his  will  and  he 
signed  it  he  said,  "I  now  feel  better  and  will 
go  to  sleep."  I  laid  him  back  on  his  pillow, 
and  in  a  short  time  the  undertaker  came. 

A  bride  and  groom  came  from  the  northern 
part  of  the  state.  It  was  a  sad  honeymoon, 
for  in  a  few  hours  after  reaching  Butte  they 
both  came  to  the  hospital.  He  recovered, 
but  took  his  bride  home  in  a  casket. 

Little  ones  were  sent  to  the  undertakers, 
while  parents  struggled  with  death.  Parents 
were  taken  to  the  undertakers  leaving  little 
ones  in  the  nursery.  Little  families  have  gone 
together  to  the  life  beyond.  One  night  a 
baby  was  born  while  on  an  adjoining  cot  a 
life  flickered  and  passed  away. 

That  same  night  a  patient  came  in — a 
young  man  of  about  thirty  years.  The 
lights  that  hung  from  the  ceiling  were  cov- 
ered with  different  colored  tissue  paper.  He 
seemed  to  be  watching  them.  When  I  went 
to  the  side  of  his  cot  he  said,  "Doctor,  is  this 
an  insane  asvlum?"     I  told  him  it  was  a  hos- 


The  Plague  161 

pital  and  the  moans  came  from  the  sick.  He 
quieted  as  his  eyes  turned  back  to  the  lights, 
covered  with  tissue,  then  tiu'ned  to  a  nurse 
and  said,  "Will  you  let  the  canary  birds  sing 
for  me?" 

A  most  interesting  patient  was  a  young 
man  seventeen  years  of  age  and  engaged  to 
be  married  to  a  sweet  young  girl.  His  face 
was  handsome  and  strong,  but  younger  tlian 
his  years  would  indicate.  His  body  was  the 
making  of  a  wonderful  man  physically.  He 
loved  flowers  and  the  nurses  were  kind  to 
keep  him  supplied.  At  times  he  was  deliri- 
ous, and  then  again  he  seemed  to  be  just 
half-conscious.  At  one  time  when  we  thought 
he  was  wholly  unconscious,  I  tried  him  out. 
I  said  to  one  of  the  nurses,  who  stood  close 
by,  "I  think  he  is  a  Finlander."  His  eyes 
opened  quickly  as  he  turned  to  me  and  said, 
"No,  I  am  Scotch  Irish." 

The  evening  before  he  died  I  gave  him  a 
fresh  carnation.  All  that  night  he  held  it  in 
his  hand.  Once  in  a  while  he  would  seem  to 
be  looking  for  something — the  carnation  had 
dropped  from  his  hand  and  he  was  searching 
for  it. 

His   sweetheart  came   and   stayed   all   that 


162  Sketches  of  Butte 

night,  as  did  several  other  loved  ones.  When 
she  first  came  in  and  stood  by  the  side  of  his 
bed,  his  eyes  seemed  puzzled.  He  looked 
at  me,  then  back  at  her.  Recognition  came. 
The  hand  with  the  carnation  went  out  to  her 
as  he  said,  "Oh,  Nell,  it's  you." 

About  midnight  one  of  the  nurses  brought 
him  a  pink  rose.  He  lay  with  the  carnation 
in  one  hand  and  the  rose  in  the  other.  At 
day-break  I  thought  he  was  getting  better 
and  his  friends  went  home.  About  nine 
o'clock  I  gave  him  a  fresh  carnation.  He 
kissed  the  back  of  my  hand  and  said,  "Doctor, 
don't  leave  me — it  will  soon  be  over."  His 
chin  quivered  as  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  The 
undertaker  soon  came. 

A  young  man,  whose  lungs  were  rapidly 
filling,  motioned  to  me  to  come  to  where  he 
lay.  "Nurse,"  he  said  in  a  low  whisper,  "you 
are  strong,  will  you  take  me  to  the  roof  and 
toss  me  up  in  the  pure  air  so  I  can  breathe?" 
He  soon  smothered  to  death. 


Chapter  Eighteen 
GOING   DRY 

The  old  Bohemian  days  have  passed, 
Wlien  the  stakes  of  the  game  ran  higli, 
And  friendships  counted  a  damn  sight  more 
Than  thej  do  since  the  camp  went  dry. 

From  the  Sage  of  Butte. 

If  Bethel  had  always  been  diy  there  never 
would  have  been  written  the  story  of  Jacob 
"seeing  things."  To  really  appreciate  that 
storj%  one  should  see  the  Stone  of  Scone, 
which  tradition  identifies  as  the  one  upon 
which  Jacob  rested  his  head.  The  stone  is 
now  beneath  the  seat  of  the  ancient  corona- 
tion chair  in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  is  sup- 
posed Jacob's  son  took  the  stone  to  Egypt, 
and  King  Gathelus  took  it  from  tliere  to 
Spain.  It  next  appeared  in  Ireland,  being 
taken  there  by  Simon  Brech.  It  was  placed 
on  the  sacred  hill  of  Tara  and  called  "Lia- 
Fail,"  the  "fatal"  stone  or  "stone  of  destiny." 
From  there  it  foimd  its  way  to  Scotland, 
where    King    Kenneth    placed    it    in    Scone. 

163 


164  Sketches  of  Butte 

King  Edward  I  took  it  to  England,  where 
it  now  rests.  It  is  a  stone,  I  should  say, 
about  ten  by  thirty  inches  and  mightily 
uncomfortable  looking  for  a  pillow  for  a 
teetotaler. 

Butte  was  supposed  to  have  gone  dry  at 
midnight,  December  30th,  1918.  Many  a 
time  during  previous  years,  the  columns  of 
the  newspapers  have  contained  declarations 
made  by  men  holding  high  public  office  that 
the  laws  of  the  state  against  gambling,  pros- 
titution, road-houses  and  the  like  would 
henceforth  be  rigidly  enforced.  And,  after 
a  brief  interval,  these  evils  would  be  as  ram- 
pant in  the  community  as  ever. 

The  Attorney  General  of  Montana,  in 
speaking  of  Butte  and  conditions  in  general, 
said,  "Butte  is  going  to  be  cleaned  up  and 
kept  cleaned  up.  While  I  realize  that  Butte 
is  a  different  town  with  a  different  class  of 
people  to  handle  than  any  other  town  in  the 
state,  this  is  no  excuse  for  the  conditions  that 
exist  there.  Just  the  method  to  be  employed, 
I  am  not  yet  ready  to  disclose,  but  plans 
are  being  matured  and  the  work  will  be  done, 
whether  I  get  the  help  of  the  county  and 
city  officials  or  not." 


Going  Dry  16.5 

Shortly  after  midnight  a  small-sized  riot 
ocem'red  at  one  resort  and  beer  bottles  and 
chairs  were  used  with  great  energy.  No  one 
seemed  to  know  who  started  the  fight,  but 
when  the  officers  arrived  everybody  in  the 
place  seemed  to  have  a  hand  in  it. 

Several  were  arrested  on  a  disturbance 
charge,  and  the  police  then  ordered  every  one 
out  of  the  place.  A  detail  of  police  was 
stationed  at  the  front  door  after  the  disturb- 
ance to  prevent  any  one  entering. 

Three  wagons  w^ere  kept  busy  most  of  the 
night  bringing  in  drunks  and  men  charged 
with  disturbance.  The  emergency  hospital 
w^as  also  a  busy  place,  and  the  city  physician 
and  nurses  treated  many  broken  heads  and 
bruised  faces. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a  quiet  night,  consid- 
ering the  fact  that  it  was  the  last  night  the 
saloons  were  supposed  to  be  open  in  Butte. 
At  the  cabarets  the  question  was  not,  "Will 
they  sell  drinks  after  midnight?"  but,  "Will 
there  be  any  liquor  left  by  midnight?" 

About  half  a  dozen  of  the  most  frequented 
bars  announced  during  the  afternoon  that 
nothing  stronger  than  beer  was  obtainable — 
everything    stronger    had    been    disposed    of. 


166  Sketches  of  Butte 

In  the  places  where  "hard  Hcker"  was  still  to 
be  had  patrons  were  lined  in  front  of  the 
bar  in  a  double  rank  and  the  trade  in  bottled 
goods  was  as  rushing  as  the  bar  patronage. 

The  first  real  convulsion  in  the  death 
struggle  of  John  Barleycorn  was  the  day  the 
armistice  was  signed.  The  evening  of  that 
day,  when  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Red 
Cross  Hospital,  I  heard  the  sound  of  music. 
"I  turned  and  looked  down  Broadway  and 
coming  towards  me  was  a  band  with  a  crowd 
in  front  and  a  crowd  behind  it,  and  leading 
the  procession  was  a  little  fellow.  I  had 
never  seen  him  intoxicated  but  twice  before — 
one  time  when  the  president  of  a  corporation 
was  giving  a  barbecue  at  Columbia  Gardens 
and  drinks  were  free — and  at  another  time 
at  the  old  Silver  Bow  Club,  when  all  who 
wished  were  at  liberty  to  hover  around  the 
punch-bowl.  Late  that  night  a  soldier  said 
to  me,  "I  have  just  been  to  a  cabaret.  I 
wonder  if  the  husbands  and  wives  will  ever 
get  straightened  out  and  back  to  their  right 
homes." 

That  night  saw  the  first  convulsion  of  the 
old  friend  and  enemy.  These  spasms  fol- 
lowed at  intervals  until  the  night  of  the  thir- 


Gohig  Dnj  167 

tieth,  when  the  patient  gasped  and  struggled 
and  passed  into  a  state  of  coma  and  at  mid- 
night, while  sm-rounded  by  devoted  friends, 
flickered,  flashed  and  passed  away. 

Soon  after  midnight  I  went  to  the   Club 
to  attend  the  wake.    A  dance  was  being  given 
that   night   to   celebrate   the   advent   of   pro- 
hibition and  wake  the  corpse  of  Barleycorn, 
and,  as  is  usually  the  case,  the  unexpected 
happened.     All  eyes  had  been  turned  on  the 
Silver  Bow  anticipating  a  rousing  time,  but 
it  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  quietest  affairs 
ever  given  at  the  Club.     There  were  only  a 
few  drunks  carried  out  and  one  or  two  broken 
bones.      There    were    many    people    present, 
but  all  seemed  uncertain  of  themselves   and 
the    whole    affair    lacked    the    brilliancy    of 
former  years.    Newcomers  hardly  knew  what 
to  do,   and  for  that  reason  held  back.     In- 
decision permeated  the  air.     A  peculiar  men- 
tal   condition    seemed    to    possess    each    one. 
Some   argued,   "It's   because   it   is   not   New 
Year's  eve."     Others,  "It  is  because  the  date 
was  changed." 

The  following  day  I  went  there  again, 
and  on  the  bar  stood  a  row  of  bottles  labeled, 
"Grape  Juice,"  "Bevo,"  and  so  on,  and  just 


168  Sketches  of  Butte 

behind  tliose  new  faces  was  the  old  famihar 
motto.  The  lines  differ  somewhat  from  the 
original  that  hangs  in  "Ye  Olde  Cheshire 
Cheese"  of  London,  a  part  of  the  old  town 
that  is  fast  disappearing  off  the  face  of  the 
earth.  It  is  where  Dr.  Johnson  reigned 
supreme;  a  resort  where  Sir  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, Charles  Dickens,  and  many  others 
prominent  in  literature  spent  much  time; 
where  Nell  Gwynne  and  Charles  II  often 
lunched  together. 

"If  on  thy  theme  I  rightly  think, 
There  are  five  reasons  why  men  drink: 
Good  wine,  a  friend,  because  I'm  dry, 
At  least,  I  shall  be  bye-and-bye. 
Or  any  other  reason  why." 

While  I  was  there  a  man  came  in,  looked 
around  and  said  as  he  passed  out,  "How 
strange  it  seems.  It  is  like  a  land  without 
a  flaff — without  an  armv."  As  he  turned 
and  left  the  cheerless  room,  I  thought  of 
Omar  Khayyam's  lines. 

"Then  said  another  with  a  long-drawn  sigh, 
My  clay  with  long  obHvion  is  gone  dry ; 
But  fill  me  with  the  old  familiar  juice, 
Methinks   I  might   recover  bye-and-bye." 


Going  Dry  169 

And  so  Butte  after  a  wet  lifetime  signed 
up  with  the  Prohibitionists  and  became  a 
dry  town  with  many  a  full-stocked  cellar, 
and  the  "wash-boiler  still"  working  fast. 

There  will  be  no  more  classy  "joy  rides" 
to  the  festive  road-house;  there  will  be  no 
more  gay  parties  around  the  roulette  table 
or  the  faro  bank.  Members  of  the  four  hun- 
dred and  the  underworld  will  be  segregated. 
There  will  be  no  more  large  tips  to  drivers 
for  patiently  sitting  around  all  night  waiting 
to  drive  merrymakers  uptown.  The  largest 
tip  ever  given  in  Butte  was  given  to  "Fat 
Jack"  by  a  multi-millionaire. 

In  early  days  Jack  borrowed  an  amount 
of  money  from  this  man,  who  was  a  friend. 
The  friend  took  the  borrower's  note  for  the 
sum.  The  paper  was  laid  away  and  in  time 
forgotten.  In  later  years  the  loaner  became 
one  of  Butte's  wealthiest  citizens. 

One  day  recently  he  was  looking  over  some 
old  papers  and  came  across  the  note  he  had 
long  since  forgotten.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
He  was  to  leave  for  California  in  a  few  days, 
and  when  the  time  for  departure  came,  he 
called  Jack  by  'phone  and  said,  "I  want  you 
to  drive  me  to  the  Oregon  Short  Line."     It 


170  Sketches  of  Butte 

was  not  an  unusual  call  and  Jack  promptly 
responded.  When  they  reached  the  station 
the  old-time  friend  said,  "How  much  do  I 
owe  you?"  Jack  quietly  answered,  "Two 
dollars."  The  friend  said,  "All  right,"  and 
then  took  from  his  pocket  the  bit  of  paper 
and  handed  it  to  Jack  with  the  words,  "I'll 
give  you  this  as  a  tip."  With  accrued  inter- 
est, the  amount  ran  into  the  thousands. 

Homer  Davenport,  the  famous  cartoonist, 
who  became  acquainted  with  "Fat  Jack" 
while  visiting  in  the  west,  once  rescued  some 
Butte  people,  who  were  visiting  in  New 
York,  from  an  embarrassing  predicament 
when  their  identity  as  Butte  residents  was 
questioned.  Hastily  drawing  a  sketch  of 
"Fat  Jack,"  he  submitted  it  to  them  with  the 
assertion,  "If  you  can  tell  me  who  this  is, 
I'll  know  that  you  are  from  Butte."  "It's 
'Fat  Jack,'  "  they  answered  in  chorus.  He 
had  drawn  a  splendid  sketch  of  the  tall,  thin 
driver,  not  forgetting  the  rusty  silk  hat  and 
ever-present  cigar. 

Jack  looks  out  of  place  driving  a  taxi,  and 
says  to  those  who  ask  questions,  "The  old 
town  has  lost  caste." 


o 

a 

<i 

w 
o 

O 
> 


Chapter  Nineteen 
AT    THE    PRESEXT    TIME 

At  the  present  time  young  trees  grow  in 
the  cemeteries.  JNIonmiients  and  attractive 
head-stones  supplant  some  of  the  wooden 
crosses.  Pansies  grow  where  tansy  weed 
used  to  hold  full  sway.  A  new  Country 
Club  graces  the  "Flat,"  where  pretty  bunga- 
lows are  springing  up  like  weeds  grown  after 
a  spring  shower,  or  should  we  say  like  dainty 
cactus  blossoms  on  a  desert. 

Legislators  have  long  since  quit  leaving 
their  transoms  open.  "What's  the  use?"  they 
say.  Some  leading  citizens  still  have  each 
other  watched  by  plain  clothes  men,  for  sus- 
picion permeates  the  air. 

Invitations  with  R.  S.  V.  P.  are  still  issued 
to  hangings,  the  last  one  taking  place  the 
early  morning  of  January  14th,  1918.  At 
the  hour  of  the  execution  it  was  still  dark. 
Three  men  were  executed  and  long  before 
that  hour  men,  women  and  children  jostled 

171 


172  Sketches  of  Butte 

each  other  to  gain  admittance  to  a  place 
where  they  might  see  a  human  being  put  to 
death,  and  it  was  necessary  to  call  out  the 
militia  to  quiet  the  rioting. 

Now  trees  grow  in  some  parts  of  the  q\Iy, 
and  there  are  some  pretty  lawns  and  flowers. 
A  new  court-house  stands  on  the  site  of  the 
old  "Palace  of  Sorrows."  Coming  in  touch 
with  nature  children  will  develop  differently 
— green  leaves  and  flowers  to  look  at  and 
green  swards  to  play  on  instead  of  tailing 
dmnps  will  take  them  from  the  metallic  and 
in  their  minds  will  come  beauty  instead  of 
corruption.  With  beauty  and  a  clean  whole- 
some mind,  honor  will  come  and  that  gives 
nerve  to  drive  away  fear  and  soon  Butte 
will  be  a  city  where  people  do  not  speak  in 
an  undertone  or  first  look  around  to  see  if 
there  is  danger  of  being  overheard. 

Fascination  and  tragedy  seem  to  be  writ- 
ten everywhere.  Fear  is  in  the  expression 
of  many  faces — a  fear  of  some  one  in  power 
to  injure  or  with  money  to  corrupt.  With 
it  all  there  is  a  something  that  draws  one 
back  to  the  place — a  fascination  we  cannot 
understand.  Changes  in  the  place  have  been 
tragic. 


At  the  Present  Time  173 

The  white  man  came  from  towards  the 
morning  light  and  the  Indians  followed  the 
setting  sun,  and  are  now  seldom  seen  except 
when  brought  into  the  city  as  witnesses 
in  bootlegging  cases.  In  a  few  sliort  years 
their  story  will  be  told  in  the  pages  of  a 
novel  and  pictured  in  the  movies.  No  more 
wild  doings  of  the  picturesque  cowboys  or 
blare  of  the  hurdy-gurdy,  for  prohibition 
killed  the  inspiration. 

The  road-agent  seems  to  stay,  but  is  not 
as  picturesque  a  character  as  in  frontier  times. 
There  are  some  mighty  good  friendships  left, 
but  as  a  rule  the  word  has  been  commercial- 
ized, and  there  is  not  the  old  standard  of 
manhood  in  the  place.  The  "bull-fence"  is 
built  around  Company  jiroperties,  and  above 
this  fence  barb-wire  is  strung  from  pole  to 
pole,  and  through  the  wire  volts  of  electricity 
can  be  passed. 

In  early  days  the  souvenir  gatherers  were 
in  evidence  as  they  are  today.  An  enthusias- 
tic collector  located  the  grave  of  "Club- 
foot George,"  one  of  the  five  bandits  who 
were  hmched  in  Virginia  City  in  the  early 
sixties.  He  disinterred  the  bodv,  removed 
the    deformed    foot,    had    it    preserved,    and 


174  ^  Sketches  of  Butte 

placed  in  a  curio  case.  A  gruesome  souvenir 
of  those  scarlet  days.  "Fat  Jack,"  bent  with 
the  weight  of  years,  has  folded  his  tent  and 
gone  to  the  Old  Soldiers'  Home  in  California. 

As  the  stranger  rides  to  his  hotel  he  says 
to  himself,  "How  many  men  seem  to  be  out 
of  work."  It  is  not  that;  they  merely  are  off 
shift  and  have  few  places  to  go,  for  there 
are  no  city  parks  or  pleasant  streets  where 
they  may  walk,  so  they  stand  around  on  the 
sidewalks  of  the  business  center. 

One  morning,  recently,  I  returned  to  the 
city  after  a  short  absence.  The  side  of  the 
mountain  was  wrapped  in  a  blanket  of  un- 
sullied snow  that  had  fallen  during  the  night. 
As  the  day  gi-ew  brighter  columns  of  slate- 
colored  smoke  rose  from  the  mine  stacks  and 
spread,  forming  a  mauve-colored  canopy  over 
the  city,  and  from  this  overhanging  atmos- 
phere, quietly — like  a  gentle  snow — came 
flakes  of  soot. 

That  forenoon  I  went  into  a  restaurant 
for  my  coffee.  A  truly  frontier  place  where 
we  sit  on  stools  at  a  counter,  and  just  be- 
yond several  cooks  stand  at  a  large  range. 
Instead  of  men  waiters  calling  out  for  the 
cook  to  hear  "Adam  and  Eve  on  a  raft," 


At  the  Present  Time  175 

when  the  patron  ordered  poached  eggs  on 
toast,  or  "Jew's  funeral  with  hearse  on  the 
side,"  meaning  roast  pork  with  gravy  on  the 
side,  attractive  young  women  in  black  and 
white  uniform  took  the  orders. 

"What'll  it  be?"  one  asked,  as  I  took  my 
seat. 

Receiving  the  order,  she  quietly  turned 
and  gave  it  to  one  of  the  men  at  the  range. 

While  I  sat  there  a  man  came  in  and  said 
in  a  sort  of  off-hand  manner:  "The  bank 
on  the  corner  has  just  been  held  up." 

The  statement  seemed  to  cause  no  excite- 
ment amongst  those  at  the  counter.  He  then 
told  me  how  a  few  weeks  previous  a  lone 
bandit  had  held  up  a  bank  on  the  "Flat." 
He  said  it  was  in  broad  daylight  and  the 
bandit  made  the  officers  of  the  bank  lie  down 
on  their  stomachs  and  crawl  into  the  vault, 
where  he  locked  them  in,  and  then  took  what 
money  there  was  on  the  counters. 

As  he  passed  out  another  friend  came  in 
and  said,  with  a  smile  playing  over  his  face: 
"I've  just  been  up  to  the  Federal  Court, 
where  they've  got  a  bunch  up  for  illicit  pre- 
scribing of  'dope.'  " 

I  asked  him  what  kind. 


176  Sketches  of  Butte 

"Mostly  morphine,"  he  answered;  "a  pound 
or  so  at  a  time,"  he  smiled. 

During  the  afternoon,  I  met  an  officer 
who  showed  me  a  poor  attempt  at  an  early- 
day  vigilante  notice  that  had  just  been  sent 
to  an  inoffensive  citizen.  It  was  a  "Turn  of 
the  Tables,"  for  the  criminal  was  trying  to 
frighten  the  other  fellow.  It  was  the  work 
of  a  novice  and  showed  a  poor  mind.  The 
3-7-77  was  there,  but  in  crude  manner. 

After  leaving  him  I  slowly  walked  up  the 
hill  towards  my  club,  and  as  I  was  nearing 
the  building  I  saw  a  large  automobile  truck 
turn  into  a  passageway  between  the  Club 
and  Court  House  and  then  stop.  Officers 
had  just  raided  a  moonshiner's  establishment. 
It  was  a  private  still  in  a  residence.  On  the 
truck  were  two  barrels  filled  with  water  and 
sugar  fermentation,  several  boxes  containing 
cans  of  Old  Dixie  molasses,  cans  filled  with 
mash,  a  wash-boiler  of  fresh  brew  and  a  queer 
looking  affair  the  officers  told  me  was  the 
still  itself.  It  was  about  one-third  filled  with 
fresh  ingredients  and  ready  for  work. 

It  was  getting  along  towards  evening,  and 
the  atmosphere  was  clear,  and  after  stopping 
at  the  Club  for  a  short  time,  I  boarded  an 


At  the  Present  Time  177 

electric  car  that  passed  through  Dubhn  Gulch 
and  then  over  trestles  on  its  way  to  the 
summit,  winding  around  in  view  of  the  ruins 
of  the  old  Lexington  silver  mine,  in  its  day 
one  of  the  greatest  silver  producers  in  the 
countrv,  but  todav  worked  for  zinc,  and  from 
the  car  window,  as  it  climbed  the  mountain, 
I  could  see  the  semi-ruins  of  the  old  Alice 
and  JNIoulton  mines,  both  in  early  days  great 
silver  producers.  And  then  we  passed  closer 
to  the  Lexington.  In  the  very  early  days 
of  the  camp  the  ore  from  this  mine  was 
sacked  and  shipped  to  Swansea,  Wales,  for 
treatment. 

When  the  car  reached  the  end  of  the  line 
twilight  was  coming  on  and  I  stayed  on  top 
to  witness  that  prettj^  sight.  As  the  sun 
settled  behind  the  western  range  its  bright 
rays  rested  on  the  snow-capped  Highlands 
and  the  summit  blazed  like  a  jeweled  crown, 
the  whole  scene  making  a  picture  of  marvel- 
ous beauty. 

In  a  few  moments  the  scene  changed  to 
one  so  different,  so  weird  and  fascinating, 
but  just  as  beautiful.  The  lights  of  the  city 
and  valley  began  to  shine  forth,  some  a  bright 
flash,  while  others  just  a  soft  glimmer.     The 


178  Sketches  of  Butte 

Great  Divide  took  on  a  deeper  hue  and 
seemed  to  close  in  on  the  valley.  Soon  a 
passenger  train  came  through  a  tunnel,  and, 
like  a  jeweled  snake,  began  to  wend  its  way 
along  the  mountain  side  towards  the  city. 
The  headlight  of  the  engine,  as  it  passed 
around  curves,  cast  out  rays  of  light  like  fire 
from  a  dragon's  nostrils. 

All  at  once  the  heavens  were  lighted  by 
brilliant  rays  that  came  from  what  seemed  to 
be  a  cascade  of  fire.  It  was  the  emptying 
from  a  high  trestle  of  a  carload  of  molten 
slag. 

I  watched  the  orange  sun  go  down 

And  the  world  take  on  its  crimson  glow, 

And  through  the  haze  I  seemed  to  see 
The  Indian  tents  of  long  ago. 

For  today  on  the  mesa  the  soldiers'  tents 

Supplant  the  Indian  tepee, 
And  the  white  men  thrive  where  the  red  man  failed, 

From  the  East  to  the  Western  sea. 

No  longer  the  dust  of  the  buffalo  herd 

Is  seen  on  the  mighty  range. 
And  of  the  antelope  few  are  left 

To  witness  the  mightier  change. 


At  the  Present  Time  179 

The  engines  puff  where  the  ox-teams  trod, 

And  the  tall  steel  girders  run 
Beside  the  tracks  where  the  buffalo  bones 

Bleach  in  the  blistering  sun. 

For  progress  rules  with  a  cold,  hard  hand, 

And  the  old  romance  is  dead 
When  stolid  farmers  plow  the  land 

That  once  was  the  rangers'  bed. 

Her  brow  is  stained  by  the  metal  crown 
She  has  wrung  from  the  land  today, — 

But  with  wistful  eyes  some  of  us  dream 
Of  the  West  that  has  passed  away. 


H 


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